Melt
by Umechaw
Summary: Kat is bossy. Kat wants him to pick his clothes up off the floor. Kat is damaged. Weird. Shy. And damn it if Dante was getting soft over her.
1. Chapter 1

alright, come close

let me show you everything I know

the jungle slang

spinning 'round my head and I stare

while my naked fool

fresh out of an icky gooey womb

a woozy youth

dopes upon her silky smooth perfume

-_Gooey,_ **Glass Animals**

**melt**

**chapter one**

* * *

He had white hair now.

He didn't know why this was so important, but he grabbed fistfuls of it, yanked and even considered trying to rip it straight from his head. There was a ragged feeling against his back and he realized his knees were giving out, and he was collapsing down the wall.

'_Shit._'

His head was fucking _pounding_. Like his brain was swelling up and thrumming against his skull.

'Dante,' she said, hushed, panicked. 'Dante, look at me.'

This fucking hair. This feeling that something was pouring into his ears and filling up some empty space he'd had his entire life. Something that was now breathing and alive and overwhelming. Something less like water and more like some hard, burning liquor.

Her hand was on his thigh, shaking him gently. 'Dante, it's not safe here.'

He took a ragged breath.

'What the hell…'

'Are you _ill_?'

He made a rude sound of dismissal. As he did it, his shoulders trembled. 'Never been ill.'

Kat smoothed her hand across the damp skin of his face. He was burning, but that was nothing new. It always felt like his skin was on fire, and now he seemed to lean into her cool hand, pressing into his cheeks and his forehead and kneading slightly at the pressure points as best she could. It cleared his head, gave him something to pinpoint through the haze, helped him remember where he was and that whatever piece of shit demon still hunting them would have a field day if they caught up and found him sitting there like a fool. He knew that he was with Kat and that she was all beat up. He knew that he had killed the fucker that did it. The world was chaotic, overflowing mess of Limbo and reality. His brother, messed up, god knows where he was.

And now his hair was fucking white.

'Dye…'

'What?'

'Hair dye. We need to buy some.'

'Um, what…'

Whatever had filled up in his head was trying its hardest to get out again.

Kat didn't know what to say. She watched him continually lift his head and try to look at her. The alleyway smelt like shit, smelt like rotting, and Kat didn't want to think about what could be amongst the rubble scattered and piled around them. She could only imagine how many people were left homeless and wounded and how many demons were out prowling, taking advantage of the collapse of worlds.

Only moments before he had doubled up, Dante had tried to tell her that getting as much distance as possible between them and the aftermath was their top priority.

And now he wanted dye. For his hair.

'Look at me.' She urged his face up.

He tried opening his eyes again and found that the need to vomit had diminished. She was there, crouching between his open legs. She looked frightened, was a mess of bruises and blood herself. One arm in a ragged sling. She looked the alleyway up and down, aware of their surroundings while he sat there dribbling like an idiot.

The feeling was subsiding— or he was just getting used to it. To the creature inside his head.

'Sorry.'

'What happened?'

He breathed in deeply. 'I lost control at the end there. Against Vergil.' It seemed to make all the sense in the world to him, so she nodded slowly.

'But you stopped, though. You held back.'

'Yeah, well, I can feel it trying to claw out of my fucking skull.'

She tilted his chin up.

He peered at her, frustration and pain in his eyes. But they were still his sharp grey. Just… tinged with something.

'It's just you, Dante.' she whispered, not entirely sure she believed herself. She remembered the fading, bloody veins that had outlined his face. Whatever had come out during that fight with Vergil was not happy about being kept locked up. His trigger had seemed easy to control before. Something had changed.

'I'm not so sure about that anymore.' he admitted quietly. His fingers calmed, ran through his short, jagged hair gently now. 'We need to get out of here.'

She nodded in agreement, slowly rising to her feet. She held out her uninjured arm, hand splayed. He thought that the weight of him might just drag her to the ground again, but she looked so worried for him. He accepted her help, pushing a majority of his weight against the wall. He brushed himself off and tried to get his bearings again. They continued, marginally slower.

'Are you okay?' she asked, trying to keep up with his long strides.

Dante shrugged. 'Dunno what the fuck that was.'

'Once we get somewhere safe I can teach you.'

His brow rose and he looked down at her. 'What?'

'Show you some meditations. It might help you… you know, calm it maybe.'

He snorted. 'It wants a fucking bloodbath.'

'It's who you are, Dante.'

He said nothing, regaining himself now and shoving all that mess to the back of his head. Just a little itch now, an itch he couldn't scratch, on his scalp. But it was better than that _pain_.

'And your hair is…' _It reminds me of Vergil_. She tried not to think about that too much. She reached up and ruffled it, smiling at him. 'It… shines when the sun hits it.'

Her comment touched something painful, and she saw it in his eyes for the briefest moment. Vulnerability. 'Shiny fucking hair. Exactly what I was going for, Kat.' he said dryly, to hide it. His layers snapped back into place one by one, something tragic to something gentle, folding up until she was locking eyes with a giant smartass.

'It looks nice, Dante.'

He nodded. His mouth felt too dry to say anything.

* * *

'This place is a fuckin' mess.'

'Just keep watch.'

He gave her a bored look, a disinterested flick near his head that resembled a salute. 'Aye, aye.'

Instead of turning back to the decimated laneway, empty from a combination of abandonment and the early, early hour, he caught himself watching her. She had her butt up in the air and her head buried somewhere below the front seat. Occasionally wiggling about, occasionally lifting her foot to scratch an itch on the back of her knee that she was obviously too preoccupied to appreciate. Still wearing those little denim shorts and she had _great_ legs.

She probably wouldn't be happy to know he'd been staring at her ass while he was supposed to be on lookout duty, and so with that thought he turned back to the street, from his lounging spot on the hood of the car, and sniffed out trouble. He was a car ornament like no other, chin in his hand, his leg arched. Fifteen minutes had passed while she tried to play engineer and he tried every comfortable position he could.

'You almost done back there?'

'It's kind of hard to do one-armed, Dante.'

He wanted to take a lot at it, maybe change the dressings, but they needed to get a safe distance away from all of the mess before they even _thought_ about recuperating. Mundus was dead and the demons directly sniffing Dante out were in a wild mess, at a bit of a lost without a leader. They knew only the scent that they had been trained to follow, and they weren't in the clear. It was all they would do until the little shits were dead. Or they found him.

Dante knew fuck all about cars, but his eyes had found (he assumed, it looked like a speed-junkies car. 'Are you saying that because it's red?' she had asked. 'Shut up, Kat.' he had replied) that had only lost one side mirror and earned a few dents to the earlier hubbub. He didn't feel all that comfortable about her messing around with wires but she calmly assured him of her previous experiences. Saintly Kat turned out to be a felon and _that_ was an interesting conversation he was saving for later.

'This is taking _way_ too long.'

'We need to get past the ignition lock.'

'Won't my fist do the job?'

'Maybe. Let's not risk it.'

He shrugged. 'Suit your—'

The engine hummed to life beneath him, the vibrations making him slip off the hood. He found his feet, looked to the open car door to see her stretching her one good arm into the air, her back arched. She had the gall to look smug. He hitched his jacket on his shoulders, a smirk tugging at the side of his mouth.

'I'm driving.'

She bluntly shook her head. 'Yeah, no.'

'C'mon. Your arm is all fucked up.'

'I don't want to find out what will happen to the _rest_ of me with _you_ driving.'

He put both his hands up, now baring his teeth in his grin. His voice lowered in baritones. 'So you _do_ have a bark. Do you _bite_?'

'Dante.'

'I promise, cross my heart, that I'll be gentle. That enough? Should we spit and shake?'

She made a face, slightly limped around the car to the passenger seat, where he was, already, with a door wide open for her. She muttered a "thank you", and he got a whiff of her shampoo and the light smell of her skin. Something fruity. A good exchange. He slammed the door and raced around.

'Bear with me, babe.' he said offhandedly, flexing his fingers as his eyes quickly took in every gadget and lever. 'I've driven like four times.'

Kat groaned.

* * *

'Are you gonna leave me?'

He glanced up through his eyelashes at her. Both his hands were on her shoulder, generally big and angry but he managed to find some modicum of gentleness. He and Vergil had done a good job sterilizing and treating the wound before, all it needed was a change of bandages and some salve. He had to remove her injured arm from her sleeve, and so as he worked her free hand pulled against her shirt, now bunched up around her neck, across her chest to keep up a degree in privacy.

Kat felt paper-thin and weak. The past week had done a number on her and all he wanted to do was find her a burger. He smoothed the binding across the wound, touching white skin, ghosting over a prominent collarbone.

'Do you want me to leave you?' he countered.

They were in a street toward the west of the city, which had taken a brutal thrashing from the debris of the big fight, and it seemed mostly abandoned. They found an old apartment complex that looked the least damaged and took stock, parking the car in a dank alley beside it. He helped her up the stairs and battered open a door. He forced her on her ass. He wanted to see the wound, didn't want to risk it getting infected.

Enough of her tired protests and his solemn swear that he wasn't going to do anything _unchivalrous_, and she let him. He crouched in front of her and got to work.

'If you left me, I'd die.'

He ran a hand across his mouth, one of those time-consuming actions that gave him a moment to think his words through. He'd finished his work, helped her ease her arm back into her shirt while she blushed and he tried with all his tiny self-control to not steal a peek.

'You'd be okay. But I wouldn't just ditch you like this.'

'I know.'

'Then why'd you ask?' He didn't mean to, but he'd never been one to quell his frustration, and it came pouring out.

She shrugged, winced from it. 'You don't seem like the type of guy that sticks around for long.'

She was right, and it made him question his own motives as to why he was still here dealing with all the shit Vergil had left in his wake, but it still made him angry. 'Maybe you better take some time to get to know me.' he barked.

'Maybe,' she said softly.

He sighed and rocked back to sit beside her and rested his head against the wall. It felt soft against his hair- severe water damage. His bare shoulders rose and fell with each steady breath. It felt like the first time he had been able to relax— a snooze on the hood of a convertible not included— since Kat had woken him at his dank trailer home. Even then, he couldn't really call a lifetime of watching his ass for demons _relaxing_, but eh. At least back then booze and sex was involved. Not all this serious… save humanity crap.

'So what now?'

'What now?' he echoed, his eyes closed. 'You heard me before.'

'You're gonna protect us?'

'S'pose so.'

'Really?'

He glared at her. 'Look, I don't really _appreciate_ this fucking interrogation. I don't know if you _remember_ but I kind of saved us all back there. I saved _your_ ass.'

She shrunk back. 'I don't mean it like that. It's just… a lot of responsibility.'

He made a face. 'Yeah, I'm trying to not think about it.'

'Where are you gonna go?'

'I guess I'll start here. Clean up the city, or try to. I don't know what else to do.' He sounded a little lost, that much Kat could tell. In their corner of a dirty, musty abandoned apartment. His coat draped over her, because he said her skin felt cold. His broad shoulders and his dirty wife beater and heat coming in waves off of him. This little imperfect moment of rough hands tending to her bullet wound like she was a fragile thing.

'Always fighting, right?'

He shrugged. 'It's all I'm good for.'

Kat bit her lip. Smothered the urge to touch his face and say something profound, but it just wasn't what Dante needed, or wanted this time. She thought so, anyway. This time he didn't look like he wanted to cry (like he would admit it), neither did he look like he wanted to go berserk. 'Well, we both know you can't drive.'

He seemed so surprised by this little sarcastic nip that he laughed. A short, low sound. He tilted his head at her and smirked— all his mouth was capable of. Or maybe his variation of a smile _always_ looked dirty and sordid. And… and sexy.

'So, do you think you'll need somebody to watch your back?' she asked. Soft, hopeful. She had spent so long looking at Vergil, even when Dante had stepped in and muddled her perception of what a hero was, what was right and wrong. Even when he ran out into a field of bullets and held onto her for all she was worth— which hadn't felt like a whole lot at that point.

He looked over at her, her big eyes, surrounded by bruises and cuts that would take a long time to heal. She was strong, yeah. Anybody that could handle Limbo, especially as young as she had been, was strong in his books. Anybody who had been tough enough to deal with their own nightmares. But she was human. And she was a goddamned friend. He scoffed. 'Like _I'm_ gonna touch squirrel semen.'

That was all she needed. She smiled at him. Eventually when she dozed, her head fell against his arm. He waited for her to wake up.

* * *

It felt like she hadn't slept in a week, and it was finally catching up to her. She rested for hours in a day, never left the apartment, except for when they'd go out to ransack the neighboring apartments for food and supplies. He was used to the foul air of Limbo and navigating the crags and rubble, but now it was everywhere, all melded and twisted. It was a dicey neighborhood and the apartment they stumbled upon looked to be the home of previous squatters, something he judged from the empty wrappers of food and the bad smell in the bathroom. Water and electricity was dead. But for now it was far away from the main chaos, a good place to lie low, even if it was a shithole.

Sleeping was never comfortable. Dante had scavenged her blankets and a pillow, but he was constantly moving around. The floor was creaky and he was never content in the space he occupied. And moonlight bathed him, made his skin look pure. Sometimes she felt his eyes on her, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was like having a guard, a reason for her to sleep. So while he stumbled through insomnia she tried to at least get a few hours in.

Sometimes she would wake up in cold sweat, the heart beating out of her chest. Tiny whimpers muffled into her bag. She didn't want him to hear her cry like that. Reliving the pain of getting shot. Mundus touching her. Blunt cruelty.

'I don't get it.'

Usually he just watched her and didn't say a word. Her tears and her pain were about as modest she was, all snuffles and trembling. Thrashing he could handle, screaming, something he could react to. He had a terrible bedside manner and would probably just make her cry more, but the fact that he was there was enough to make her calm down. The thought of waking up alone, still feeling their hands on her body, made her sick to her stomach. Dante's looming presence and the moonlight made sure that never happened.

This time, he spoke. Quiet, near the window.

She didn't know what to say, still gulping back her tears, so she waited for him to continue.

'Every time I think about what they did to you, I get pissed. Like killing Mundus wasn't enough.'

And she never had told him everything. They didn't have very long between the trade-off-gone-wrong and the final showdown. It was a strange thing to find the brother she had been relying on since she was younger to be meticulous and cold, while Dante had sat there murmuring gently, trying to dim the trauma in her eyes. He'd played doctor, both kinds, cleaning her obvious wounds, imploring her for others.

Some of them… she didn't want him to see. She would deal with them later. Some of them were personal, some of them she still had to find the courage to face. And when he had realized, she hadn't seen so much anger in one person's face before.

She wondered if he thought about the worst case scenario, all the time.

'Do you… do you wish you had killed Vergil?'

'Yes.' A blunt reply. '…No.' Softer.

'There was nothing you could do—'

'I'm sure there was a whole fucking lot I could do. That's the point.' he snapped, turning away from the window to face her. She was sitting up in her makeshift bed. Small, pale shoulders, her face and makeup a mess from crying and bruises.

'Dante, I don't blame you.'

'Kat—'

'I wouldn't lie.' He still looked grim. She rubbed her arm awkwardly. 'I don't mean to cry, I'm sor—'

Dante made a face and put a hand up. 'Go back to sleep, Kat. I'll keep watch.'

She did so, sighing in what was almost relief. Always, always keeping watch.

During the day he went out scouting and killing, taking in the damage and the long stretch of work ahead of him (and he demanded she throw a few spells up to seal the apartment from unwanted entries while he was gone), he came home with blood on his jacket and shirt, and the only item of clothing she could rotate was her jumper, they decided they needed new clothes.

'It looks like some serious military is rolling into the center of town. The pigs are trying to bring back order. It's not much, but it might mean they're opening up. I'll go buy us some shit.'

'I can't come and buy my own clothes?'

'Ah, no. You're a burden right now. No offense, Kat.' He patted her arm, smirking. 'Those fuckers are still attacking me in broad daylight.'

'Okay, but—'

'You don't want me picking out your underwear? How old are you?'

'Dante…'

'No, seriously, how old are you?' He was genuinely curious.

Her brow quirked, her arms crossed over her chest, but otherwise she made no move to reply. She didn't feel like mollifying him. 'Don't buy me anything ridiculous.'

He moved to walk around her, she assumed towards the exit because he wasn't one for goodbyes unless it was some cheesy one-liner, instead he picked up the tag of her shirt that rested at the back of her neck. Her skin tickled where he touched her. A shudder down her back.

'I'm a size two in pants,' she said quickly, before he got any ideas. He snickered by her ear.

* * *

The door slammed open, jolting her out of an afternoon nap on the hard ground.

'Kat?' he demanded.

She sat up blearily, recognized his voice and instantly grabbed for the boots beside her. 'What is it? What's wrong?'

'C'mon. We gotta go. Where the fuck is the seal? Why can I walk through the door?'

She yawned, feeling for her bag and jumper. 'I guess I forgot to put them up after you left.'

He looked displeased and rushed.

Her eyes narrowed as she rounded the hall, finding him standing there with the door wide open and his eyes hard. New blood in his white hair. 'I think they got a scent on me.'

'With Mundus dead, you'd think they'd back off at least a bit.'

'Fuckers need a new hobby.' he muttered.

'I'll put a spell on us, should make the trail dead for a few hours.' She slinked past him, pulling her bag to the side so that she could rifle through it and find her spray can. She rattled it around a bit— nearly empty. His eyes followed her, and they both jogged down the staircase.

'Good.'

* * *

'We need to find a café. My laptop is dead.'

'Fine. Eat this.'

One hand still on the wheel, he groped at the back seat and yanked forward what was the greasiest pile of plastic and burger she had ever seen. She had been wondering what smelt like burnt meat and fat when she got in the car.

'I don't eat…' _shit_.

'Yeah, well, eat it anyway. And this—' he dumped the entire brown bag, containing fries and a packet of onion rings, and a chocolate sundae, on her lap.

'I'm really not hungry—'

'You got shot, you need all the energy you can get. You've had nothing but canned shit the past couple of days. And you're skinny anyway, didn't Vergil ever feed you?'

What he said jolted through both of them. Whatever anger had him strung so tight seemed to melt into the steering wheel, until even his hands relaxed. If she and Dante had ever shared an uncomfortable silence, it was now. And she expected to feel even a pang of hurt, even a small bit of anger towards him for mentioning Vergil. She didn't find it in her. Not when he looked so guilty, and he glanced at her sidelong too often instead of keeping track of the road.

'Sorry.'

She shrugged. 'No big deal.'

'No, I've got a big fucking mouth.'

'It's really okay. I've never had a big appetite.'

He glanced at her one more time, maybe gaging if she was being truthful. And then continued to stare at the road.

Things quietened in her head. She leaned back to see what other surprises he had, to find mountains of bags piled haphazardly. Lots of clothes, a pink pair of panties hanging out. She blushed.

A few bottles of hard liquor, medical supplies, food.

'Dante?'

'Mmm?'

'Did you even _have_ money for all this?'

He didn't reply.

She picked at her greasy chips for a moment, assessing the situation.

'…Dante?'

'Yep?'

'Is it really _demons_ that are after us?'

She watched the smirk form on his face. 'Maybe not just demons.' She grabbed a few onion rings and started eating. He noticed. 'Suddenly hungry?'

'Food just tastes better when it's free.' There was a small amount of glee in her voice that he really, really liked.

'I'll salute to that.'

'What about you? Where's yours?' she asked, as she grabbed a spoon for her sundae.

His nose crinkled. 'I don't eat that shit.'

* * *

He dared to venture back into the city. They were low on gas, and they needed her laptop to keep up to date with the shitstorm happening globally now that demons were ransacking freely. And if the unpleasant and contained smell they shared between them in the car was any indication, they both desperately needed a shower.

'You're not alone in this, Dante,' she told him. 'We were only a small fraction of The Order, you know. The others will be doing all they can to fight back.'

It should have given him a little bit of relief. But he always remembered at the last moment that people like Vergil were in charge of shit like that, he didn't want to think about any further corruption in humanities last line of defense. He was only one fucking person.

They pulled into the service station, one shoddy parking job away from getting a complaint from the owners— until they realized that there were none on the premise. The sight of abandoned vehicles, the distinct lack of human noise and business. It was like a graveyard, a wasteland. Rubble and broken roads and buildings that looked half-eaten.

Dante walked the length of the car. She wound down her window and watched to make sure _he_ was watching. It had taken him ten minutes to find the goddamn button to open the fuel cap.

He lazed about against her door, but his eyes were alert in the distance.

She drummed her fingers against the dashboard. 'We'll need to think of a plan.'

He glanced at her. 'Plan? Kill as many of the shitheads as I can. That's my plan.'

Kat shook her head. 'Dante, it's not gonna be like fighting in Limbo. There are people. _Everywhere._'

'Then they'll just have to get out of the way, won't they?'

'No, it's going to be a major concern. Protecting them. Not just killing demons.'

But people were stupid. Lumbering, smelly idiots who couldn't tell when their asses were being saved. She could foresee herself actually being useful to him, once her arm was healed. She'd need to find a library, or an archive. Time to learn some new tricks.

'Maybe for now it's not a bad idea for you to just carefully clear out the city. Maybe you should hunt at night. I'll figure out the rest.'

He saluted her lazily in agreement.

They drove around for hours, until they came to a small section in the city that seemed the least scarred by Mundus. It seemed to be the idea on everybody else's mind as well— the people that had lost their homes now gathered together on the streets, with the odd military standing out in their stark uniform. She said little as he scouted them, an intense look on his face. It was very rare that he took anything so seriously, and she had to keep reminding herself that he was basically a connoisseur of being on the run. Trailer homes and back alleys and women's beds.

She felt useless as he looked on in silence, almost forgetting she was there. 'Mundus had a bit of a hold on real-estate. But there were always the apartments in—'

Dante tossed her a look and cut in. 'Too risky. We don't want anything permanent.'

Her brow rose at him. 'So what do we do, live in the car?'

'We could.' He nodded absently, gazing out his window again. He had one hand on the wheel and was barely paying attention to the traffic around him. 'I would. But it's not just me anymore.'

'You've got extra baggage now, huh?'

His mouth quirked at her. 'Yeah. You're a real pain in the ass.'

'I'm so sorry,' she said dryly.

He shrugged. 'If you want to curl up with me on the backseat every night, then—'

Kat cleared her throat. 'I get it. No apartments.'

His shoulders trembled with his laugh.

They were looking for cheap motels, nondescript, where Dante could give a fake name and just pay as they went. There were shithole tenements like that everywhere, owners that turned a blind eye to drifters, fugitives, and were used to people that crashed for months at a time and paid with cash.

They found one, close to a café that Kat spotted.

Kat paid straight up with what little cash she had left, one of the last niceties by Vergil and something Mundus and his pigs didn't swipe. Such a petty amount to the riches that had been flowing through their fat fingers. They realized this was something they'd have to deal with later— the whole money situation. For now, showers.

Their motel room was a little grimy, about as grimy as the landlord, but Kat would clean until she was happy. Small, dark, smelt a bit musty. But better than they expected, considering the price. They wondered if the sheets had been changed or if they were in for any surprises left by the previous occupants. He let her take claim on the first shower, didn't even ask her to save him some hot water. He was too preoccupied with the sleeping arrangement. Something she had failed to notice, while she complained about some of the clothes he bought her.

'So, you're _never_ gonna guess what happened,' he called, when she stepped out of the bathroom a good half an hour later. Short wet hair, the smell of shampoo and clean skin. All her makeup was gone, and he realized he had never seen her without it. Maybe it was something she used to hide behind— smoky eyes, thick lips, big hoodies. Now he could see her freckles and her long lashes.

'What—?' She was busy adjusting her clothes when he spoke, and when Kat looked up, she had to double take. One bed, and a very unsubtle Dante draped across it. Like an underwear model. Except now he was in a bed that _they_ had to share and she really couldn't take much more of—

Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to find words fitting enough for her embarrassment. Her pale skin was turning pink. Dante laughed.

'Relax, babe. I'll take the couch.'

He rolled off the bed languidly and sauntered past her.

Every fiber of her body was attuned to his, as his bare shoulder touched her. She turned to watch and she saw him take his shirt off before he even reached the door. Broad expanse of back and a tattoo sloping across tense muscle.

She didn't move until the shower started.

* * *

'I'm heading out.'

''Kay…'

She didn't look up at him, her answer had been mumbled into the book in her hands, rustling the page. Dante could only smirk as she flipped another page and shoved her nose into it. The motion drew his attention to her fingers.

'Did they hurt?'

Kat slowly dragged her eyes away from her book. She looked at him hazily, until her brain snapped into focus and she stopped seeing the words and started to become aware that he had just asked her a question. He smirked.

'Pardon?'

Vaguely, he pointed at her wrists. His other hand was running a towel through his damp hair.

She first looked at the book cover, confused. And then her eyes caught sight of the intricate tattoos curling over her skin, her knuckles. It reminded Dante of the roots of a plant, curling seeds, pretty flowers. She flexed them. 'It was a necessity. When I started to become proficient with spells it just became easier than painting them on every day— and now they're much more powerful. The ink isn't cheap. With everything going on the… suppliers were less than willing to give it up.' She lifted her hands. 'I made this ink myself.' She sounded proud.

'Who did it?'

'A friend, from the Order.' Somebody dead. Dante scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

He'd seen her without her coats and jumpers a few times now, when she wore small tank tops to bed. They went all the way past her wrists, up her forearms, stopping just above her elbows. A lot of ink, over sensitive bone and sensitive flesh.

'All at once?'

She nodded. 'Vergil suggested it.'

Of course he would. Dante's face eased into a scowl. He tossed his towel over the back of his couch and fell into the cushions to start yanking on his boots.

'They've saved my life more times than I can count. They've saved yours, too.' He heard the fondness, and also the frustration of what they signified. They saved her life and made her strong, made her powerful. Enough to change the world around her. But it was a reminder of everything— why she needed them, why she fought.

'They're, uh, nice.'

She smiled and blushed. 'They help ground me.'

'And this one?' Het tapped the middle of his forehead.

Kat brushed the fringe out of her face, the spot seeming to tingle. Kat shrugged. 'Ajna.' she said softly.

'An-whatta?'

'Think of it as an extra eye. One that boosts the spirit world and Limbo for me. As a medium it was imperative. This one I needed more than any other for the war. It helped me faze through Limbo. It helped me speak to you clearly. Now the human world and Limbo are overlapping to such an extreme extent. The spirit world is… well, it's chaos. I can't make sense of much anymore.' She looked troubled.

Dante left his couch, and dipped his weight onto her bed, at the very edge. She closed her book and gave an uneasy adjustment to the covers around her legs, curling them across her lap. Her arms folded and she drew into herself. It wasn't his intention to bring that out of her. He didn't want to scare her. But maybe it wasn't just him, maybe it was men, and maybe it was demons. He just happened to fill both categories.

He cleared his throat. 'So the tats, not just normal ink I'm guessing?'

She shook her head. 'The process is long.'

'Please tell me there isn't any semen involved.'

She shook her head, gave a laugh. Sweet and feminine. As she did so she sat up eagerly and he saw an earnestness in her eyes.

'What they do is they keep the ink in vials of…'

* * *

His first instinct was to summon Rebellion. What usually followed the helpless whimpers he heard, especially nowadays with civilians getting caught up in the middle of the war, was an oncoming attack, and even in the state he was in— still half-asleep, semi-naked, wiping the drool off his chin— he followed his gut.

There was howling wind outside, the smell of wet dirt in the air.

When he stumbled to find footing on the carpet he heard the harsh clinking, a random sound out of nowhere, but he soon recognized it as the sound of somebody repeatedly trying to turn the bedside lamp on.

He blinked, lost the edge of his fight response. It was dark— ridiculously dark. No light of an alarm clock or microwave. And the person trying fruitlessly to turn on the lamp was becoming erratic in breath. Whimpers escalating.

The hand reaching for his back lowered. He blinked and gathered himself.

'Kat?' he mumbled tiredly.

He heard a gasp, heard Kat jump in her sheets. Frantic rustling. He could smell tears.

It was a nightmare.

He was used to this by now. Most nights, the gulps of a shriek in her throat as she jolted awake and immediately went for the lamp. She would turn the light on, get her bearings, remembering where she was and more specifically where she _wasn't_.

If he felt like it, he would let her know he was awake. Open his eyes and murmur some sleepy nonsense about being okay and safe and he was here. Please go to sleep, I'm fucking tired. But usually she had it covered. Only moments of lost sleep and she was back nestled into her covers, breathing softly and sniffling.

She had no light, now, to wake up from the nightmare.

And he knew he shouldn't, because his close proximity tended to freak her out even more, but he was tired, and he wanted her to stop crying like that. It made his skin crawl.

He put his knee on the bed and didn't miss the way she stiffened.

'Kat, you're okay.'

'I… I forgot where I was, and…'

'You're here. You're in this piss-tiny motel. You're in your bed. You're safe with me.'

'It's so _dark_—'

'Power's out. Hopefully they've got a generator. Should kick in soon.' He debated reaching out to touch her, because that's how normal people comforted one another. But he thought better of it. They were far from normal. 'It was just a dream, Kat.'

'Just a dream. My brain just keeps making me relive it over and over again.' Kat's voice hitched in an angry, overwhelmed way.

He felt a heaviness on his shoulders. 'The Nightmares?' he murmured.

She shook her head furiously, he felt the motions, could feel the air swooping around her. 'I killed that bastard,' she hissed. 'I'm stronger now. Stronger than him.'

'Then…' his voice trailed off.

'I didn't say a word to Mundus,' she whispered, out of nowhere.

His hackles rose. He felt wide awake now. 'I know, Kat.'

'I held on, just like you said.'

'I know.'

'And he didn't _stop_. I thought that if I didn't scream or make a noise he would… stop. It's worked before. Can't get any pleasure out of somebody that holds their breath and pretends they're dead, right? You know what he did? He laughed,' she sobbed, angry hitching noises in her throat. 'He laughed and he just kept cutting and—and _touching me_ and putting his—'

'_Kat._' He'd never shout at her— at least without any bad intentions. But his voice was finding an edge now, which disarmed her and shocked him. To the core. He'd never felt this draining kind of pain and uselessness, seeing her reliving and feeling these things. She jumped from it, like waking up. He reached out and hoped to touch the top of her head and instead collided with her shoulder. He felt her shudder violently. Instead of yanking back he just stayed there, touching cold skin. 'The fucker's dead. We killed him.'

'I'm not stronger than he is.'

He should have pulled way. Instead his big hand curled over the junction of her neck and he stroked the protruding bone of her shoulder blade. 'The hell you are. You're stronger than anything.'

She started crying softly. 'They just don't care.' She made soft little gasps between her sentences, her body yielding and heaving gently through it. 'They just think they can do whatever they want and touch whatever they want. And _ruin_ what they want.'

'You're not ruined, Kat.'

'I don't ever want to feel like that again.' She took a heavy breath. 'I said that last time. I told myself I was strong enough to fight off anybody that wanted to touch me.'

It made him acutely aware of the fact that he was touching her now, and that it might not be welcome. His hand started to slide away, fingertips barely leaving her skin when her hand snapped out and grabbed his wrist. Another came up and curled around his fingers. They were wet from her tears. She squeezed tightly.

He didn't move. He hardly even breathed.

The fridge hummed back to life and a moment later the lamp beside them flickered on. Revealing the sight of big, stricken eyes lined with tears, red nose and cheeks. A mess of cowlicks and thin limbs. And Dante, reaching over her bed, letting her stroke his hands and watch his tired, broad shoulders in wonderment. His face was on hers, so intent and worried and soaking up her tears, taking on the responsibility for them.

She sniffed, waking up to herself.

'I used to think Vergil was the only one in this world I could trust.'

'You said he saved you.' he said, like an impatient reminder. His voice was a little cold.

She shook her head. 'I used to think so. But I know that he just gave me the means, I saved myself.' Dante nodded in agreement, started to extract his hand but she just held on tighter. 'But… _you_ saved me.' There was admiration, and just a bit more, in her voice.

He snorted. 'I don't think so. I think most of the time I've done the opposite.'

She blinked, wet eyelashes sticking together. 'You ran out there and grabbed me.'

He knew what she was talking about. 'I didn't think Swiss cheese would have been a good look for you.'

Her cheeks were damp but it seemed like her tears had had their course. She got a dimple from a barely-there smile. But she remembered the vibrations and thuds of bullets that had torn and buried into him, his endless grunts of pain while he held her as close as he could to his chest, tucking her head and feet. And the times after, when he had stood up for her, against everything.

'I'm really sorry for doing this every night.'

He shrugged, and realized he had twisted his hand, his fingers now stroking hers. 'Just, you know… I'm here. Or whatever.'

Her smile returned again. 'Thank you.'

He winked, and finally their hands parted. His warmth lingered on her. She remembered herself, and pulled the blankets up higher, as he and his semi-naked form stumbled back and he went head-first onto his couch.

It looked uncomfortable, the way his long legs tried to stretch out, only to dangle over the edge. He folded his arms behind his head and they served as pillows. She felt guilty for taking this bed, which could probably fit about five people if they tried hard enough. Her smaller body was much more suited to the couch, she liked to curl in as she slept anyway. He'd refused her many times and eventually couldn't even find a funny sum of words. _You're sleeping in the fucking bed. It's not negotiable, Kat._

_He could just stay here_. Her stomach twisted with the horror of that thought. And also the nervous… something.

His warm skin and slopes of muscle. She just imagined his heavy weight in her bed, the rift between them, maybe she would put up a blockade of pillows and sheets. The clench in her belly because he would be right there, thrumming, breathing—

His eyes were closed, tight against the light.

She released a heavy breath and turned the lamp off.

'Goodnight, Dante.'

''Night.'

* * *

They had been at the motel for a while and Dante didn't seem to have any urgent reason for them to leave. She hardly ever asked about future plans, but wondered if he was scheming and calculating when exactly they should upheave and keep on.

She decided Dante had been decent enough to go buy her some new hoodies and a fresh pack of underwear (and toe-socks? Randomly thought it was a neat idea?), and she also had this wonderful image of Dante going through the drive-thru of some junk food joint after going on a thieving binge, with the cops on his tail. He was… brave like that. So she started buying stuff with her allotted cash. Discounted skirts, some pretty midriffs that nobody ever saw anyway, because she was always swallowed in hoodies and coats.

It took a long time for them to find some measure of rhythm between living together. It was a small, small space they had to share. The kitchen was crammed into a crevice, bar fridge and sink and a small stove. She kept strawberries on the counter and usually forced him to eat a handful daily. She cleaned the kitchen regularly, though any mess came from the dust that settled from the lack of cooking. He neither had any reason to and, according to him, she lacked the instinctive ability to make anything edible (in less elegant wording, with an earning of a hard slap on his ear). The fridge was stocked with orange juice and beer, some maple syrup because she had a buzz for pancakes and cold toppings. He had little possessions besides his clothes and when they started out, neither did she. A few trips to the library, the formation of a rather destructive grocery list and she now had a good stock of everything she needed to do her thing. As long as she didn't blow up the motel he was fine that all her junk, her herbs and dried, creepy things in bottles, her spray cans and stencils, took up a majority of the space.

Eventually they found a way to pass each other without bumping heads, learnt to deal with each other's snores and bad habits, like leaving wet towels and empty bottles of liquor on the floor (him) and the mess of her makeup laying waste to the bathroom and forgetting to open a window when she was fucking around with spells. This small space left little to the imagination for both them.

She was bossy. He didn't like to be bossed around.

And yet time went by so quickly. And he woke up every afternoon, content with the night ahead. It felt like it made him numb, not in an uncomfortable way, being stuck in a routine, but then thought maybe that's what it felt like to be normal. _If that was fucking possible._

'Lift it.'

Kat pouted.

'C'mon.' he tried again, patience waning.

'We did this like an hour ago.'

'Yep, do it again.'

She grumbled, heating up under the intense stare he was giving her. She sat on the bed and he loomed overhead, arms crossed, lazing against the dresser. Slowly, she eased her right arm out, slightly bent, finding it hard to stretch it out that last inch.

'Good, okay, do the stretches. Twenty this time.'

'This sucks.' she mumbled, and began to bend her elbow until her wrist touched her shoulder, then stretched out again, repeating the process until, she assumed, Dante was happy or her arm fell off. The pain was dull, but it grew the longer she held on.

'You don't do it that arm will never be useful again. It needs movement after being bent for so long.'

'It frankly doesn't surprise me that you would have been shot enough times to know that.' she bit out.

His mouth twitched. 'Still wondering if you have a bite.'

'I hope you never have to find out.'

'I'm not so sure about that.'

It happened often. She wouldn't called it some bad half-assed attempt at flirting, it seemed to come naturally, even when she had been a stranger. Except now she found herself heating up at half his comments. He liked to make people uncomfortable, and he loved to see her blush. It was in his nature to be so blasé about women and sex. Kat wasn't sure if it was a sign of maturity or if he was more akin to a brazen little kid with a big mouth.

And when he said stuff like that to her, that subtle, honest flirting, he sometimes surprised himself.

Dante cleared his throat, and she continued with the exercise, less interested in complaining and more so about the heat on her face.

'It looks better.'

'Yeah, doesn't hurt so much.' she agreed softly.

'How about here?'

He pressed his thumb against the corner of her lip, still slightly discolored by a light yellow, from a fading bruise. Fingertips found her brow, found scars that would probably never fade. They cut through her eyebrow, made her eyelid squint the tiniest bit.

'Fine,' she whispered. His thumb made a gentle line, forgetting himself. His mouth was tight and his eyes lost. He must have realized he was pushing his limit because he pulled away, still managing to look like a complacent bastard even when sheepish. Kat nodded at nothing in particular, unaware she had gotten way past the twenty mark with her arm. She kept going, even when he stopped touching her. But he returned to press a hand to her flexing bicep and lowered it, before it actually did fall off.

The air abruptly changed when he cleared his throat.

'Hungry?'

She shrugged as he stepped away. Didn't realize how close he had actually gotten.

'Let's go out and eat.'

With humans' slowly taking back control, the military and what remained of the Order now stepping forward, they started learning how to fight back. With heavy patrols setting out night and day and people working at a constant to clean this part of the city up, it wasn't so unheard of to go—

Out and eat?

'_Out_, out?'

'Your arm's better,' he said offhandedly. 'You need to get out more.' By way he was already searching for his jacket, she knew he expected no refusal. He pretended like he really didn't care what she ate, but once or twice he'd brought home soup loaded with vegetables. Kept the fridge stocked with milk— and now that she could actually leave the house without feeling completely helpless he gave her money to go to the corner store and get groceries herself. She didn't ask where he got the money. And it wasn't much, anyway. Enough to get by. Enough left over for him to stumble home drunk sometimes, forgetting which bed was his.

And that was the thing about Dante. For all his bad temper and foul language. For all that he drank and stared at women and flirted incessantly with her, but then the instant he accidentally walked in on her as she was climbing into the shower he clams up. Staring hard at the wall, grim, clenching fists. And he had run out the door as she screeched at him. It wasn't like he saw anything but an arm and maybe a bit of a shoulder, but that night, he had an offering of white choc-chip muffins and some root beer.

And every night, he stayed awake until he thought she was asleep. He thought she didn't know, but she did.

His nature was violent, not cruel. He was young and lost and had a whirlwind of strength he was still comprehending. He wanted to live, wanted to experience everything, make sure she lived and experienced everything.

He wanted to slay some demons and was burdened with saving the world. Just wanted to take her on a date, without actually saying the words.

'No burgers.'

'Done.'

'Not a club.'

'…Okay.'

'No excessive drinking.'

'Okay, _mom_. Why don't we just get in our fucking pajamas and take a nap?'

Not that he _owned_ any pajamas. The many mornings had her eyes opened towards the couch to see a wide mouth, and he space between legs to be even wider, and his bedding kicked to the floor to create the picturesque view of a man in the morning in all his bodily glory. _All _of it.

He held the door open and looked at her expectantly.

She grabbed her shoes.

He spent the entire time keeping her pressed away from traffic and other pedestrians, his arm enveloping her but never touching her. She felt the strain of his fist by her ear, the tense muscles in his arm inches from her back. He watched people like a hawk.

'How about here?' He tossed a nod at a kebab joint.

'Mmm… no.'

He pointed. 'There?'

She shook her head.

'Just choose something.' She heard the _or else_ in his voice.

In the end they settled for the café a few streets from the motel, one that Kat frequented because it had free WiFi and a decent selection of muffins. At three in the afternoon they opened up the kitchens as a Pizza bar. That would do.

* * *

He still refused to let her out in the field— or, politely _requested_ she stay out of the thick of it, with a little bit of yelling from both parties on the side. Her arm was better, but anything could cause a turn for the worst. She was brimming with energy and the urge to help. She'd learnt spells for better, stronger barriers, which not only protected their home but could also protect the city. She spoke constantly of trying to set up a program at the city hall so that she could teach people how to arm themselves properly, how to guard their homes. Help them help _her_ make the city safer.

She worked day and night to create plans, mapping out safe houses across the city. Ready to _do_ something.

And he didn't dispute her ideas— he thought they were great, would help any way that he could to set it up. She wanted to help the people. He did too, just in a less subtle manner. In a way that might scare them. For that reason he usually went out in the evenings and stayed out into the night. It seemed to be when the demons started to get their bloodlust on. He could hide his identity, cleave some fuckers without huge crowds getting in the way.

And her ideas were great. _Brilliant_.

She was just too damn weak to do anything yet.

'Maybe I should look for work.'

He sat back on his side of the booth, both his arms propped up along the ledge behind him. Before him, a wide plate, picked clean except for a stack of little black olives (that he'd specifically asked not to be on there, but what the fuck else do you expect from a greasy teenager). So very unlike Dante, he just picked them off or ate around them, swallowing double cheese and double pepperoni in gulps. And he watched her nibble on her cheese and mushroom pizza, slowly but surely devouring it. He didn't seem to mind, content to let his food go down, enjoying a lazy mood. How he managed to wolf it all down in that time and not keel over from heart burn was a matter of fuck you, I'm a demon-angel.

'Really?' he said. He looked at her through lidded, assessing eyes.

'Start contributing money to this whole thing.'

'Why don't you get back in touch with your Order pals?' His dislike of them was momentous. Bad first impressions.

Kat shrugged. 'I called them up. They're sending supplies our way as a… formality. But I don't know if I'm really part of it anymore.' she murmured.

'The way I see it, they owe you a huge fucking bonus. Kat, milk them. Seriously.'

She didn't reply, shoving what remained of her slice into her mouth so that she didn't have to. She winced as the sharp crust went down.

His brow rose. 'Do I have to talk to them?' His voice found baritones. 'Because it sounds like they're fuckin' around with you.'

'Dante, its fine. I keep in touch with them.'

Not entirely satisfied, he let it drop.

Obliviously his fingers tapped along to the monotonous jingle playing over the speakers. She recognized even this small movement as Dante coming up from his semi pizza-coma, and humming with energy.

'So.'

'Soo_oo?_' she hummed, distracted by her food.

'We should go out.'

Her teeth paused around her pizza. She gave him a wide-eyed stare and he was already shaking his hands at her, going ramrod straight in his chair, realizing his mistake.

'Tonight. I mean tonight. We should go out tonight.'

Her heart, which had been in her throat, found a soothing rhythm in her chest again. 'Um, why?'

'For a drink. To dance. I dunno, fucking anything but sitting around in the motel.'

She shrugged shyly. 'I'm not really up for it.'

'For a few hours?'

She kept eating her pizza.

'Kat. Live a little,' he said, exasperated.

'It's not really my scene.'

'What, _fun_?' he drawled.

'Crowds. Alcohol. Watching you hit on women.'

He smirked, but he looked a little on edge. 'Now _why_ would I do that if I have a date?'

'It's just who you are.' she said, trying to sound as teasing as possible, but it was hard because it was the complete truth.

'I'm not _that_ much of an asshole.'

She nodded blandly, still trying not to get flustered about the "date" comment.

Dante sat forward in his seat, annoyed now. 'Hey. I haven't picked anyone up since all this shit started. I come home every fucking night, don't I?'

Kat was startled by this. She put her last slice of pizza down, stared at him, very seriously. 'Why are you defending yourself? You can do whatever you want, Dante. It's not like…' _We're together. _And it wasn't like she cared that she smelt perfume on his skin when he got home. That he had lipstick all over his mouth when he woke up. It wasn't any of her business.

'Yeah, I _can_ do whatever the fuck I want.' His voice was finding a snarl, and he knew it, so he abruptly stood up before he started mouthing off and saying something he would regret. She shrunk back.

He started going for his pocket.

'No, it's okay, I—'

He held out a finger to her. _Shush. Stop speaking._ He dug into his pocket, pulled out a couple of bills and tossed it beside her. 'Enjoy the rest of your pizza.'

'Where are you going?'

'To do whatever the fuck I want.'

She definitely didn't feel any guilt. And she definitely hadn't seen any hurt in his eyes. Dante just didn't get upset about women and _gooey_ feelings. That shit didn't touch him. He probably just wanted to get her drunk, see if she was any less of a frigid bitch after some vodka. Because she had, or she thought she had, seen him staring at her mouth more than once, found any reason to touch her face, or decided that lounging around their room bare-chested and smirking was the best idea ever, just to get a reaction out of her. He was so wound up, even after giving a beating to the most hardcore demons. Wasn't he going out, drinking, letting loose, fucking in an alleyway? (And it was at the most uncomfortable of times that she thought about the latter, like when she was in the shower and she was also doubly trying to ignore the fact that Dante definitely did it for her). Instead of coming home at two every night, a broad, hulking thing that rubbed his eyes and twisted up on the couch and slept.

Kat didn't finish her pizza.

* * *

'You fucking piece of shit.'

It gave a sickening squawk and he hammered the _Arbiter_ into its skull, a little bit too much force behind it but he had a lot of frustration to kill. His broad axe tore through its face and hit the hard cement and ripples of heat and red wavered about his feet. A piss-weak gaggle of Stygians really wasn't what he needed right now. Or maybe it was.

And straight after he was going to find a lineup of women and booze.

It started off like this in his head every night he went out. With the intent to get hammered and then find a girl (or girls), and do whatever the hell he wanted until daylight, when the round of hunting started up again. Kat would be fine for one night, just one fucking night, right? She always sealed their room now, learnt a way for the barriers to become accustomed to him so that he could actually get in with a password. She hadn't had the chance to tell him that the first statement he made upon entering their motel room would become the password. Which was why Dante now had the pleasure of repeating "motherfucking cocksucker" every time he wanted in. Her arm was better, she was getting healthier. He just dreamed of waking up in somebody else's apartment, missing parts from the night before, some gorgeous, naked body pressed against him. Like the good old days.

And then it just… faded. The urges. Something else would seep into him. By his sixth drink, pressing some girl into the corner of a club, the throbbing and the sweat just making him feel alive as she stuck her tongue down his throat and pulled at his shoulders. He'd kiss her, her neck, touch her waist and if she was _really_ eager he would already be grabbing handfuls of her.

And then he'd be on his way home, trying not to make too much noise, usually stubbing his toe, as he walked past Kat's bed. It was all a bit of a blur, having to blow the woman off, paying his tab.

A waste of a night.

Just… not tonight. He hadn't been laid in forever. And he didn't mean for that to be the end game with Kat, he just wanted her to stop locking herself up in the motel all the time, maybe to at least get some sunshine, because she loved reading and learning but it also equated to pale, sallow. Just to liven up. He wasn't all bad. He was fun, he could make sure she had fun. He could be… charming. Whatever she needed. Whatever he needed to get _closer_ to her, get under her skin like she had—

'Dante, baby? Haven't seen _you_ in a long time.'

He looked her up and down appreciatively, but didn't remember her. Dark hair and big eyes, impressive legs that didn't really ring a bell. Not that he would tell her. 'Yeah. Been busy.'

'Are you busy now?'

Hand on his thigh. She practically glowed under the lights, music so loud the vibrations made her body shudder.

'No.'

'Do you want to be?'

Fingers on his buttons. His mouth twitched. He reached for her hip and took a step closer.

Why the fuck not?

* * *

She was awake. She was reading her book and would have been following the words with her eyes religiously, if she wasn't staring at him like he'd just slapped her. He'd slammed the door open, and he'd muttered the password under his breath. He'd scared her with his abrupt entry but as soon as she saw it was him she relaxed. She was still flushed from a shower, even though it was three in the morning. Her hair looked longer wet— but it had been months, now. She hadn't taken the scissors to it in a while. It looked good.

She was clean and warm and curled into a cozy ball on her bed.

And he was drunk and bruised. He hadn't put much effort into fighting with that last batch.

'Dante?' she whispered. She looked exhausted, and worried now that she saw how beat up he was.

He was late. She had stayed up for him.

He didn't really know what he was doing. He figured he should probably go have a shower, maybe pass out on the tiles until the water ran cold. Instead he was swallowing the space between them. She lowered her eyes from his as he did so. The floor between them was nothing, now his knees were bumping the bed. She started looking back up at him, following his legs, to his belt, to where his shirt bunched at his waist. To his face. The look in his eyes.

It was worse than she thought. With his jacket draping off his body, she saw a deep wound on his shoulder, slowly knitting itself together but staining his shirt and skin with blood.

'Are you okay?' she said, harsh words said through an exhale, disregarding her book, nearly throwing it in her haste.

He wanted to say _no_, thought better of it and wanted to say _yes_. But nothing came out.

Instead he seemed to fold, like his body was breaking, but he was simply leaning down to touch her cheek. Giving her one of his most intense stares yet. She blinked in confusion and tried to ask him with her eyes, a batter of her lashes that was far from seductive. Her voice died in her throat and her face grew very, very hot, but he just curled his fingers though her hair, the soft ones at the back of her neck. The slow movement made her shudder. Every nerve attuned to it. Stomach doing flips.

All she saw was his clenched jaw and the broad curve of his shoulder because now he was so close. He smelt like bourbon, but mostly like blood and sweat.

She was trying to soak up too much information at once and she was surprised when his forehead touched hers, and then his mouth did.

She had soft, full lips. Her body was shaking so hard, her heart was going nuts. She released a breath against his mouth, hot, mingled with his, something she couldn't control. He wanted to stare at her, see every expression she got from him kissing her, but his eyes just closed, automatically in the moment.

And then her hand was pressing against his heart.

It took him a moment to realize he was almost shaking just as much as she was, and she was basically a trembling _mess_ in his hands. All those pathetic feelings, the guilt of leaving her to walk home alone like that after a squabble, the bitterness of not finding much relief in some random girl, letting himself get cornered in an alleyway for a thrashing that he'd all but accepted like a masochistic punk. All these things sliding off of him like he was watercolor, melting down him like rain. His mouth parted and he ran his tongue along her lip. Slow, careful. He was humming with energy, because he usually never did this sort of thing, taking steps with women. He was used to it being rough and passionate. Kat was all bottled and he realized that he'd always tried slow and careful first with her.

He never wanted to scare her, never wanted her to feel like she was trapped, like he was just another monster. Another nightmare. But he felt like he could just come undone, touch her everywhere, be inside her. A monster that was trying not to be.

Kat pulled away suddenly, merely an inch. 'What… are you doing?' A pointless, obvious, _breathless_ question and he opened his eyes to see the wide look she gave him.

He was scared she only had protests, and he was drunk and he just wanted to make her feel good, make her want him as much as he wanted her. And _fuck _did he want her. He tipped her head back, and he saw a second of that sultry, single flutter of her lashes, the pucker of her lips that meant she knew what was coming this time, he tilted his own head and just felt the thrill of his canine clashing against her top lip and his tongue on the edge of her warm mouth.

Her fist clenched around the material of his wife beater, dragging it off of his skin. Drawing him closer for a moment as her heart raced and he could have groaned. He was deciding whether or not to touch her with his other hand, put it across her back maybe and pull her closer and closer, but then she shoved him away. Their mouths made a sweet noise as they parted. Her lips were red like her cheeks.

He swayed in front of her.

'I, ah—um…' she stuttered.

'Sorry,' he replied, not meaning it. The silence was long and thick before she replied, finally.

'It's okay.'

She wondered if it really was okay. She was felt so giddy that it was like being the dumb teenager she'd never grown up to be, practically melting under that half-lidded look he was giving her now. She could still taste his tongue and remembered it on her own. She could still feel the heat of him. He was always so warm, like a furnace. She recognized the feeling of being both turned on and not being afraid. Nervous and a bit inexperienced. Heady. Aware of how slow and soft he had been just then. Just _not afraid_.

It was okay.

She smiled, small and brief, but he saw it.

The truth was that he was ragingly turned on but understood that, even though he'd breached that boundary tonight with basically no casualties, he probably shouldn't push his luck. So, he smiled back. No little quirks. Just fucking glad he finally did that.

He murmured goodnight, touched her short bangs and swooped down the curve of her jaw. He turned to his couch and forgot about showering, just shrugged off his jacket and yanked the wife beater over his back, wincing as the material dragged over the cut on his shoulder. He practically fell onto the couch, glad to feel the material and stuffing was finally softening up from his many nights on it. He didn't bother about covers. It was a hot night.

'Goodnight,' she whispered, in a delayed response.

She turned off her bedside lamp. He considered letting her know that she could keep reading if she wanted to, but knowing her, knowing how little she liked to inconvenience people, she would keep it off anyway.

It was probably twenty minutes later. He was nodding off, doing his best to ignore his semi-arousal as his dozing thoughts were of the kiss, when a small, shaky hand came out to touch his wrist. His arm was falling off the couch. Her fingers curled around him, she was so cold. Or maybe his skin was just too hot.

Either way he slipped out of her soft hold on him and startled her a bit, because she thought he had been sleeping. His big hand grabbed hers. After a moment she squeezed back. He didn't let go until morning.

* * *

author's note:

I got a lot of musical inspiration for this. Particularly "Do I Wanna Know" by the Arctic Monkeys, "Melt" by Chet Faker, and of course, "Gooey" by Glass Animals.

thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

you got the lights on in the afternoon

and the nights are drawn out long

and you're kissing to cut through the gloom

with a cough drop colored tongue

and you were sitting in the corner with the coats all piled high

and I thought you might be mine

in a small world on an exceptionally rainy Tuesday night

in the right place and time

-_Knee Socks, _**Arctic Monkeys**

**melt**

**chapter two**

**warning: **_sexy stuff_

* * *

He didn't do it often. It always gave him an uneasy feeling. But he got out of the shower now and had the urge, there was no fan so the steam fogged up the mirrors and he had to rub it away. It suited him fine usually— no reason to look at himself any more than he had to.

And see that white hair that he sometimes caught Kat staring at.

Today, he wiped the condensation away with his fist, repeatedly because it just kept fogging back up. He saw his bright eyes, his frown and pinched brows. His first thought was that he needed a haircut. Kat cut her own hair just fine, maybe she could take a quick razor to the back and sides, and trim the top for him. Maybe just shave the whole fucking lot off.

Dye hadn't worked. It had drooled off his hair and just stained his skin. He'd been so angry he had kicked her out of the bathroom and had stood under the shower for half an hour, not even caring when the water turned freezing, ignoring her soft words through the door.

And that feeling came out of him sometimes. When he was fighting and his blood was simmering. Phasing in and out of just wanting to kill something, like he normally did. To wanting to tear something apart. Throbbing headaches and that ear-splitting noise when he didn't.

And it wasn't always the monsters he was hunting. The people that sometimes got in the way, crowds and screaming women and their misplaced kids that brought it on, crying and eyes like saucers, and the bloodlust couldn't distinguish between enemy and innocent bystander. Those days he didn't come home until the feeling disappeared. No reason to bring the monster home and scare Kat. Or worse.

He heard the sound of her vials clinking together as she rummaged through her clutter and glanced at the door. He thought of the intense look on her face as she worked, sucking in her top lip or touching it with her tongue.

She was doing well. Her bullet wound and downgraded into an itchy scar, something that would be with her forever but it was something she rarely hid around home now. She stuck to the exercises and had recovered better than he hoped. He was happy enough with the improvement that he let her cajole him into letting her come with him on a hunt, with the conditions that she stay hidden and surrounded by barriers. Most of the time she didn't even bother with the fight, when people got involved and their curiosity (or stupidity) got the better of them, she set up perimeters and pushed them back for him. But she often found the high rooftops, and those Molotov's of hers were pretty handy. She even started going around the city, stamping flyers to walls and posts and window shops, talking to people about the "war" and the "revolution". Shit that Vergil would have said. But when Kat said it— the flurry of her mouth and the sincere way she approached people. Vergil had rubbed off a bit of that charisma, but her charm was all her own, so was the glow in her cheeks when people took her seriously. He always kept her company on those walks, arms folded and waiting off to the side, looking like the general mean bodyguard. With any luck she'd have enough people for one of her classes soon.

It was going as well as they could hope, without any intel whatsoever on what was happening amongst the top dog demons. Sleep didn't come easy when he thought about it. Anything that Mundus had touched was slowly beginning to crumble— facilities, banking, and corporate businesses turning to mush. Falling apart— or being hunted down by his truly. The Order contributed on that side of things and he grudgingly appreciated it. Like _he_ understood big business anyway.

'Mundus ruled absolute, with him gone…'

'He must have had enemies, or opposition.'

'He did. He would have hunted them all down and crushed them.' She looked apologetic for her words, and he realized why moments later.

_Opposition. Like my parents._

'Phineas warned me when I was at the tower. He said when Mundus is gone, somebody would try and take his place. And those fuckers are becoming way too quiet. Something's happening.'

'Well, you've killed hundreds, and all we can do is prepare people. We're doing all we can.'

All they could do. It just never felt enough, like it wasn't making a dent.

He thought about his father in purgatory, what was happening to him now that the King was dead, if demons knew only how to inflict suffering, regardless of their ranks.

He thought about Vergil.

He looked in the mirror, and he thought about what had been passed down from father to son. He turned away when he couldn't stomach it anymore.

His pocket kept humming and vibrating on his ribs. Kat had demanded he keep it on his person at all time. Now that they were partners. Or whatever the fuck they were. He hated the goddamned thing but she used all her common sense and rolodex of puppy dog faces she had to convince him.

He put it on vibrate and it stayed that way. Cheap fucking default ringtones.

'Yep?' He answered the phone abruptly. He wasn't in a good mood, and was halfway through a hunt. Hadn't had much sugar in his cereal or something and now that he already had a scent he was in beast-mode. He rounded the corner of another dank alleyway, Rebellion in his off-hand. He needed practice with it anyway.

'_Are_ _you okay?'_

There they were. Mischievous Bathos bastards. He held the phone near his throat and hollered at them. They turned their greasy, chattering faces towards him. 'You need something?'

'_Are you nearly finished out there?_'

Ophion went flying out and embedded itself into one snarling face. He readied Rebellion.

'I would be, if I didn't have to answer this stupid piece of shit every—'

'_Don't be such an idiot.'_

He scoffed, slicing through the little pipsqueak like it was butter. He sidestepped a projectile casually and vaulted into the air. 'If we're going to talk about who the _idiot_ is here, why don't we— _hng—_ talk about who heated up a _steel_ _bowl_ full of pudding in the _microwave—_'

'_Okay, why don't we talk about _who _it was that got stupidly drunk and forgot the barrier password and sat outside using every combination of curse words you knew until somebody _complained_ to the—_'

'Okay, why don't we—'

'_You… even… started swearing in German? I didn't even know you _spoke_ Ger—'_

'There a point to this?'

'_Yes, there was.'_

'Is it gone now?'

Silence embraced the alleyway as the squealing ended abruptly and the stench of their rotting bodies slowly faded with them. He sheathed Rebellion, feeling it fade from his back.

'_I want some more lessons._'

He frowned at nothing in particular. If she was here, he would have frowned at her. 'Really?' he deadpanned.

'_It's been a week.'_

'A week, huh?'

'_Eight whole days, actually.'_

'You can count, good for you.'

'_C'mon.'_

Dante rolled his eyes.

'I'll be there in an hour. Just gotta clean up.' And bash a couple more heads.

* * *

He entered the clearing, more like a crater amongst the toppled buildings and upturned cars. It would have been a courtyard originally, part of some old structure that the city, like a leech, had once built around and through, all cobblestone and pretty gardens, but it was a mess now. The fountain was broken in half, water all dried up. A few easy leaps through the air and he found this secluded place easily enough. Kat had found a few crevices to squeeze her way through, a makeshift tunnel since it wouldn't be so easy for her to make it over the rubble.

She was in jeans, clingy material that yielded to accommodate the stretches she was doing. He put a little more effort into his footsteps so that they echoed and wouldn't surprise her. He had a high pain tolerance and humans never really did hit hard, but he learnt quick enough that she was jumpy and went to immediate fight instead of flight response (surprising, actually) when she was startled. He'd figured that out once, and he didn't intend to find out again. Still couldn't sit properly.

Closer now and with a single glance over her shoulder to let him know she was aware of his presence, and she bent to touch her toes. Not something he was going to complain about, _ever_. He liked seeing her legs in those denim shorts, but jeans did only good things to her figure.

'Hey.'

She smiled shyly, it was upside down and her hair was flopping into her face as she stared up at him. He sat down on the edge of the fountain, bracing himself against his knees and watched her. She finally straightened and brushed her hands against her sweater.

'Don't look so glum. I'm not a _bad_ student.'

His brow rose at her, and then he tried to even out his features.

'Am I?' Her brow creased worriedly.

Dante smirked at her. 'You punch like a girl.'

'I _am_ a girl.' she huffed.

'Really?'

Kat took a meaningful step forward. He laughed, raising his hands in defense.

She balled her fists up and found a stance. It was a little off, and so with much effort on his part he stood to correct it.

It had been his idea at first— he liked the thought of her being able to defend herself. Under no circumstances was he a good teacher _or _a refined fighter. With his strength and abilities, it allowed him to charge in a little recklessly. But he knew the tricks, he had been in enough scraps to know how to use his fists. What he taught her was a little bit dirty, and it was mainly defense. And like it would do much with a demon lunging at your face, but he didn't teach her because of that— he didn't plan on her having to be in that situation. And it made her confident. Made her stronger. To go out by herself, because she was always on edge, so shy it bordered on scared. And not just of demons.

She leapt at the whole idea and stole it as her own. Now she was constantly bothering him about lessons. And he was all for them, really. He taught her about the sensitive points on a human body, because all he pictured was some fucking creep and he wanted to make sure she _knew_ where her knee went. But then she started talking about demons and _their_ tactics. About using guns and even fucking swordplay. Too many questions for somebody susceptible to broken bones and, you know, death.

He put his hands on her folded fists, engulfing them, prying them open.

'Stop folding your thumbs in.'

She went stiff, and then adjusted her fingers. She had a bad habit of that at first, but he'd drilled it into her head so often that she hadn't slipped up in a long time.

'I can't help it.' she muttered, blinking like she had been in a daze.

'If you don't want broken thumbs, you _can_.'

He let go of her hands, resting on them a little longer than necessary. He never negated what was and wasn't necessary when it came to her. It wasn't necessary that he make her hot and bothered every chance that he got, and press her up against a wall, or make her hot and bothered for _another_ reason because she looked attractive as hell when she was all riled up.

He didn't _really_ need to put his hands on her hips, adjust her position again, slide his hands over her pockets and waistband. But he did it anyway.

He rattled off a few drills and stepped back, holding out his palms so that she could use him as a punching bag, but to his surprise she was sloppy. Usually she was _too_ tense, something that would leave her with pulled muscles and cramping if she wasn't careful.

'Kat, what the fuck was that?' he asked, as she lamely jabbed at him.

'Sorry.' she mumbled.

'_You're_ the one that wanted to do this.' She practically begged him every chance she could. 'Look, bring your arms in a bit more, just—'

'Hey, Dante…'

She flat out interrupted him without batting an eyelash, something she lectured him on— his impatience and bad manners. She was biting her lip, which meant she was bordering an uncomfortable conversation. One that embarrassed her. Something personal that had nothing to do with the practice she had sweet-talked him into.

'What?'

Kat stuttered for an inordinate amount of time as he stared at her expectantly, until eventually she boiled over, lost her cool, and shook her head. 'Nothing. Forget it.'

_Fat chance, girl._

He smirked and put his hands down, instead folding his arms across his chest. 'Your face is all red.'

It went an even more furious red, and her posture turned timid. She forgot about the drill.

'Well, it's warm out.' There was a fresh breeze rolling in on them. He nearly laughed at her. She growled. What a glorious sound.

'Alright, finish your drills.'

She nodded a little weakly, and then it struck him that something could actually be wrong with her. He did a once over— nothing wrong, she was at the top of her game in those pants. She was flexing her fingers and was decidedly anxious.

Dante softened a bit. 'You okay?'

'I'm fine.'

So, he was new to this whole relationship thing. That was what they were in now— she'd clarified that about the third time they'd kissed and she'd taken to holding his hand when they went out for lunch. He'd had to outright ask, because like any girl had tried to fucking hold _his_ hand before, without also trying to stick one down his pants. Like he had ever taken a girl out for _breakfast_. She had thought it was funny. He still hadn't gotten used to the clammy, sweaty… _nice_ feeling of her small hand in his, or the way his stomach flipped. And he understood that being in a relationship meant _talking _and dealing with _feelings_. Kat wasn't a sap (as far as he knew, but he hadn't seen her ball her eyes out to the sappy romance novels she hid under her pillow). Something was bothering her now, and so he knew his role in it.

He stepped closer and pressed a hand to the back of her neck, ignoring the way she tensed. He kissed her. As natural as it could be, not even long enough to warrant closing his eyes, just a soft pucker and her dazed expression.

'Remember to untuck your thumbs.'

''Kay.' she whispered, relaxing. He stroked the back of her neck for a moment, reminiscent of a short massage, and smirked at her.

Yeah, he had this shit covered.

* * *

She'd worked up a sweat, and now sat hunched over a milkshake that was nearly twice the length of her head. He'd never had a sweet tooth, the very sight of the sickly strawberry syrup and marshmallows gave him a headache. But she always did this, underestimated the size of a meal and _overestimated_ her stomach and always felt so bad leaving leftovers that she bullied him into finishing it for her.

She'd gotten him a second straw just in case, but he hadn't touched it.

'What the fuck is that.'

'Triple strawberry swirl thickshake with extra marshmallows.' She licked her lip. 'I think there is fudge at the bottom. Want some?'

He shook his head. 'No. Go nuts.'

She slurped away, while he sipped at his root beer. No actual beer here at this… _café_. The things he did for… fuck. Whatever.

Kat was actually getting _through_ the thing, had hardly taken a breath and he was worried about her passing out and similarly giving herself a heart attack, when she stopped, sat back, and gazed at him squarely.

'Dante.'

'Kat.' He mimicked her serious tone.

'I… had something to ask you.' The image of her floundering in the clearing came back to his mind.

'I'm all ears.' he said, as his shoulders eased and his arms fell by his sides— an inviting stance if anything, to help her stop stammering and just get out whatever the hell it was she was trying to say.

'Um, so, are you busy tonight?'

'Uh,' he shrugged, caught off guard by the casual question. 'Not really.'

'That's good.'

He nodded slowly. 'Why?'

'Oh. I was going to suggest that we go out. Tonight.' More a statement then a question, but like he was going to point that out. His mouth opened and closed. Wasn't expecting that.

'Sure. For… pizza?' he asked, unsurely.

'No. Well, yes, but I mean…'

It clicked. 'You mean _out_, out?' he mocked her, to hide his surprise and his delight.

She glared at him, terribly embarrassed now. 'Well I _did _get this new book today that I could _easily_ stay up all night reading, if you'd rather be a _jerk_—'

He could have kissed her. He really, really wanted to. But that would have been fucking lame right then and there after she so cutely asked him out on a date. So he just reached over the booth and shucked the hair back behind her ear, gentle. Watching her swallow slowly and then taking the opportunity to muss her bun up. She edged away from the patronizing rumpling but looked subdued by the smile he was giving her.

'So?' she murmured.

'You think I would choose being a jerk over going out with you?'

She shrugged. 'You're a jerk regardless.' He loved her quiet mocking, like a hidden mean-streak she reserved only for him.

'I should probably head out for a few more hours,' he told her, swallowing the last of his drink and shuffling out of the cubicle. Kat nodded, looking unsure without his direct answer.

He stood by her side, she looked up at him sidelong, and he noticed the cream on her bottom lip.

He pegged her as a girl adverse to such an open display of affection. Especially when it involved a whole lot of tongue. He wiped it away with his thumb, dragging across her lip, the corner of her open mouth.

'I'll pick you up later.' he promised.

Kat nodded.

Dante stuck his thumb in his mouth to lick it off as he walked out, and missed the big smile on her face.

* * *

He was picking through his clothes while she finished up in the bathroom. He yanked off his dirty wife beater and grabbed at his unorganized drawer. He dragged out a black top, long sleeves, clingy. Already suffering from a bit of wear and tear. He tucked it into his pants, and ran a hand through his short white hair and turned to her as she stepped out of the bathroom.

Exposed stomach. Skirt and tights and boots. Looking bashful but only a little bit self-conscious. She tugged at the midriff so that it hid her bellybutton, but eventually gave up when it kept bouncing up. He was glad when she finally did, so he got an unobstructed view of the slender arch of her, the white skin. It was accentuated by her tats and the whole image just made him want to bite his fist.

'Different. You look different.' She cleared her throat and spoke, breaking the silence.

'Look who's talking. I forgot you had a stomach.'

She crossed her arms over her belly instinctively. 'I can't see you flex in that shirt. Don't wear it too long, people might forget how manly you are.'

He gave her a look that was pure simper, teeth showing.

'Are we going or what?'

He shrugged, stepping towards her. 'It's still early.'

'Okay, then—' But she stopped, because he was inches away from bumping his boots against her own. She had to crane her neck.

He towered over her, and she tried not to think about how much she liked that. He got all serious— as serious as Dante could get— and exuded confidence. She thought he was going to kiss her, and readied herself for it, promised herself she wasn't going to push him away quite as quickly as all the other times. Maybe let him touch her, her stomach, something he veered to do before she shut him down. Maybe she'd worn the shirt for that exact reason. Maybe she'd slip her tongue into his mouth and surprise him.

His head dipped and her eyes closed.

'Why don't we go grab some pizza?'

Her eyes snapped open and she bit her tongue as he laughed and started for the door.

Smug bastard.

* * *

He handed her a light beer, it was fruitier because of bananas or something ridiculous like that, something she could drink slowly and not get too much of an initial buzz on. She looked so on edge, eyes following everything and everyone. It was such a hot, heavy place and she felt like she had to soak it all in. So many bodies. And it wasn't even _that_ busy, he was just so used to this scene that it was hard to try and place himself in her boots. He hadn't pictured her as that much of a shut in— she was young and even though she was a bit of a brainiac she didn't seem _that_ straight edge. Maybe he hadn't been paying enough attention. Maybe she had just gotten so comfortable in his presence that he didn't notice her acting this way anymore.

'You really don't get out much, do you?'

'A bullet in the shoulder might do that,' she said offhandedly.

He wasn't going to let her blow him off that easily. He rested his elbow against the table, leaned towards her. 'I meant before… all this shit.'

She kept kicking him accidentally, swinging her legs back and forth. Only soft nudges that made him smile and made her apologize quietly over and over. So tight strung, jumping when people walked by. He hadn't brought her out to a club to make her _more _nervous about the world. He thought that the lessons would have helped, that maybe Kat could sit there and tell herself that she _knew_ how to defend herself, but it didn't seem to be working right now.

'There aren't any demons here,' he promised, beneath the music. He had to lean in close.

'I know. But it's not always demons you should look out for.'

He nodded slowly. 'You're safe with me.'

She gave him a small smile, shrugging helplessly. 'I just can't help it. I'm slow to trust people.'

'Yeah, I know.' he said dryly.

Kat still wasn't convinced that doing this was a good idea, but she'd had a momentary spike of confidence, or adrenaline. And she had this nagging feeling that she really, really wanted to take Dante up on the offer she had previously turned down. It had taken every ounce of confidence to actually go through with it. Maybe Dante was right— she didn't sense any demons either. And maybe he was right about her being safe with him, as well. She trusted him. A lot.

'We can go, if you want.' he said seriously, but she knew him better than that. He really didn't want her to.

She considered his words for a good while. 'It's okay.'

'I have beer at home.'

_Home_. It was _home._ He hoped she didn't see the "_oh shit_" flash in his eyes.

She shook her head. 'No turning back now.'

He laughed. 'Sounds like you're going into fucking battle, Kat.'

She felt her face get all flushed, and thanked the neon lights above. 'I'm sorry. Really, I'm having fun. I just…' She started toying with the bottle label. 'I used to go out a bit. I guess I just got caught up in work. Forgot there was another world outside of hunting demons.'

'Easy to do.'

'I guess being in that line of work, you just don't feel…' _human._ She bit her lip, so hard it almost bled. She regretted her words so much that she nearly started apologizing, except he didn't look offended at all. He was nearly laughing at her again. At least he got some amusement out of making herself look like an idiot.

She started drinking a lot quicker after that.

'Can I ask you something?'

'Shoot.'

'Are you even legally allowed to be in here?'

She rolled her eyes. 'It was _obviously_ the charms you worked on the guard.'

'Naw, I'm serious. Five months and I still don't know how old you are. What the fuck, huh?'

'It's because of how desperately you want to know.'

'Rude.'

'Well, there are a lot of things I don't know about _you_.' she shot back.

He lifted his arms in surrender. 'Okay. I'm an open book. I'll tell you anything you want to know.'

'I feel so lucky.'

'You should.' he said, seriously. 'You think _you're_ slow to trust people?'

'Don't even get me started. You threatened to shoot me when we met.' Kat said dryly.

'And aren't I glad I didn't.' He smoothed the rough pad of his thumb across her cheek. There was a small dimple in his, where his half-smile curled at his lip. He inched around the small table, closer to where she sat. He was standing, and the tall stool made them a close match in height for once.

'I'm nineteen,' she whispered, as his face got closer.

He looked pleased, not only because he had finally won this stupid game. 'I smuggled you in.'

'You're a full-blown felon.' She laughed. Soft, barely audible, but it touched his ears and he couldn't help but keep touching her face, cradling her jaw. She didn't notice it at all, the way she drew inadvertent attention just by simply being _Kat_, with those killer legs and those sweet collarbones and damn near sweet everything else. And when he actually _got_ her to smile… he had the urge to just sling an arm around her but that felt like displaying a dominance that he wasn't entitled to. It wasn't an urge he was used to feeling about _anything_ other than the last slice of pizza. _Certainly_ not about a girl in some club.

Fuck if he wasn't getting soft over her.

His free fingers drummed on the lattice surface, suddenly feeling impatient. 'Wanna dance?'

She exhaled heavily, unaware she even had that breath held up in her lungs.

'I'm… not nearly drunk enough for that.'

'Okay, well how about I go buy another round while you think of more excuses.' He winked good-naturedly and downed the rest of his drink. Much harder liquor than hers. He left for the bar and she felt very vulnerable and exposed, missed the warmth of his breath by her ear. But he kept swinging back looks at her, smiling, assuring her.

She finished her beer before he returned with more.

* * *

'Did you spike my drink?'

He looked half amused, half insulted. 'No. You're just a lightweight.'

'I can barely walk, _why_ would you get me to the point when I can _barely_ walk, Dante?'

Dante snorted, rounded on her suddenly, looking a little more than insulted now. 'You had threebeers and a sip of bourbon, babe.'

She smiled bashfully. 'I probably shouldn't dance.'

'Ah, no.' He held her hand tighter. 'I've been waiting patiently—'

'Right, _patiently_.'

'—for twenty minutes for you to stop stalling. I was promised a _dance_.'

'I did no such thing,' she mumbled.

'Well, that's just too bad.'

His arm found the curve of her waist and she felt like melting, the banter on the tip of her tongue would have turned to flustered babble if she didn't shut her mouth promptly. Her mind was like a ball of fuzz, dampened down by a stream of alcohol. It felt dreamy, almost pleasant. And that shirt he was wearing hugged his arms and his chest. The wonderful curves of his biceps. She saw the outline of his pendant beneath the black material and the muscles of his neck as he searched over the heads of people around them for a spot on the dance floor and pulled her along.

He found a place towards the back so that they weren't completely surrounded and squashed. Beads of sweat were already forming across her collarbone and he had the urge to just bend down and suck at the thin sheen. He put both his hands across her stomach, sliding them around until he had a full grip on her hips. He pulled her flush against him.

In the back of her mind something told her that she was normally _way_ more alert over how cramped she felt, and crowds, how close Dante was. The music was even louder now, if that was possible, drowning everything out, even his heartbeat, until his chest grazed hers and she felt it thumping steadily, and in comparison hers was like a little humming bird. But at the forefront, she just remembered all the women that had meandered up to him— some that knew him, some that were just curious about the broody, handsome boy at the bar. He was surprisingly good at making them back off. She didn't hear what he said, but they generally looked put out.

Her satisfaction in this made her feel like an idiot. Because she didn't _really_ care, or at least she pretended she didn't.

And now he pressed against her and he let every compulsion take over that told him to wrap his arms around her and do that neat little trick with his pelvis against hers, again and again…

By now she'd be blushing and pushing away and he'd be looking contrite— or pretending to. Except that they were just… dancing. Dancing was different from being pushed up against a motel wall and kissed for all she was worth, getting a leg hitched at his waist for a good fondling. Yes, just dancing. Erotically. Forgetting that other people were still in the room with them.

Dante was all hard muscle and every wicked trick he knew. He was talking to her— it was mostly just gentle reminders that everything was okay. That it was just her, him, and that she looked so fucking hot right now. Her stomach flipped.

He kissed her beneath her ear. A hand rolled up the outline of her body, not missing a single tender spot, to cradle the back of her head. She was getting the hang of it now, shuffling her feet at the right time and she started feeling that hot pressure a bit too much. She just closed her eyes and made soft noises as his teeth nipped her skin, and then eased the spot over with his tongue. A rotation of this that emphasized each grind his hips made.

Her eyes fluttered open briefly. What she saw ruined everything.

She met the eyes of a girl on the dance floor— and that wouldn't have been a problem. Everybody looked about as lost in the moment as she felt. Except she swore those eyes oozed, that they were gaping black holes. That her name curled along its tongue.

She stopped dancing altogether, made a few inches of distance between them so she could take a breath but at the same time fisting his shirt so hard, so that he couldn't get too far away.

'Kat?'

'We… can we get out of here now. Let's get out of here.'

Normally he would have liked the sound of that, but he caught the panic in her voice.

'What's wrong?'

'I swear I saw…'

Looking back, that woman was gone, lost in the swarm of writhing bodies. Brief relief— maybe she had been seeing things—

And then there was more littered between the dancing people, through gaps in the shadows, staring, gaping, soulless, saying her name, _Kat, Kat, Kat._

Her heart started hammering in her chest. Everything was too woozy. She wasn't in control. And she _always_ fought for control. She kept her eyes trained on his neck and trembled under his palms.

'Get me the hell out of here.' she whimpered.

'Kat, I told you—'

'I saw them. I _saw_ them. Just get me… get me _out_, please.'

He pressed a hand to her forehead. She was flushed and warm from dancing. Her eyes were trying to dart out and find whatever it was that had her so freaked. He held her chin and caught them, held them. 'Hey, hey. It's okay. Come on,' he said grimly. Dante swung an arm around her, huddled her close against his side and led her along the wall towards the exit, until she found fresh air and she could _breathe_.

And not see those eyes.

* * *

'I'm sorry,' she mumbled, truly meaning it. Her head had cleared enough for her to understand that she'd royally fucked up one of the sexiest moments of her life.

'S'okay, the place was pretty dead anyway.'

Lies to make her feel better were rare, but maybe he was just really worried, didn't want to make anything worse.

Was the alcohol just fucking with her? Was her _mind_ just fucking with her? Maybe it had been the heat, the breathlessness, her peaking anxiety. Peaking arousal… she wanted to cry.

'Motherfucking cocksucker,' he said, like it was natural to him now, and opened the door wide for her. The seal knew her as its creator— she passed through with merely a flutter in her gut.

And she hardly had enough time to turn the light on before his hands smoothed over her shoulders, turned her towards him. He closed the door with his foot and stroked soft circles into the back of her arms. It made heat crawl across her, but it did not fit well with trying to clear her head of everything she saw.

'Dante…'

'Kat.' he replied evenly.

She didn't say anything else, and they seemed to get closer, seemed to find more than one place to press and find each other, and so he urged her against the wall beside the bathroom door. It was cold against the small of her back, a chill that sent a jolt up her spine.

He was looking at the last of her lipstick and hoping to smear it. Hoping to get that heat back in her cheeks and her heart racing for all the right reasons. He dropped his head and watched her thick lashes touch her cheeks.

He kissed her, and felt her tremble on his slow contact. He breathed deeply through his nose and she copied, and then copied him again when he tilted his head, for hard, open kisses, with his tongue sliding on hers.

It just felt different, like he wasn't holding back anymore. It was new. Not just his messy, untechnical attempts at making out with her for as long as he could. His arms hung loosely by his sides and she wondered if he might try and touch her, but in a way that was more than gentle strokes against her belly, her face.

He just kept kissing her that way. Fast, firm presses of his mouth. She couldn't keep up and made soft, raw noises that hitched with her breathing that made his blood boil. And then with all the gentleness his growing impatience could muster, he pulled back and took one look at her swollen lips, the way her eyes nearly crossed and she tried to follow his mouth for more.

His hand came up to cradle her ribcage, fingers finding a snug home in the dips between each bone. She was making happy, keening noises as he buried his face into her neck and sucked at skin that tasted of dry sweat, and smelt like _him_. He slipped his hand beneath her midriff and smoothed a big palm over her breast.

She shuddered in his arms.

'Kat… baby. Just let me make you feel good.'

He made her knees turn to jelly. Like she was some saucer-eyed teen and he was like every bad boy her would-be parents and friends would warn her about.

He squeezed softly, came back up from her neck to kiss her. Constant, nearly-there strokes of his tongue on hers, and he could have groaned at the way she got impatient, or desperate enough to drag her tongue over his, over his bottom lip. Felt her hands in his hair, pulling and scraping with her fingernails.

His thigh parted her legs and he found heat radiating from her. Rotating between slow thorough slides of his mouth on hers to nuzzling her jawline. And his thumb started drawing circles over her nipple and it was like a burst of stars behind her eyes, how much of a relief his attention brought. His hips trying to find the occasional, perfect grind against hers, and she felt how hard he was, how much he wanted her.

Just… just perfect.

And then his hand pressed against her thigh, drawing lazy circles.

She tried not to think about it too much, instead tried to think about the way his body was shaking, how he was so lost in the moment of touching her and trying to draw all those good things out of her, that he had no bad intent towards her in this action.

Just following the steps, knowing that's how it was done.

So he slipped a hand between her legs, and Kat felt everything. The base of his palm kneaded softly, and he gave a ragged breath and she moaned and didn't recognize _that_ as a sound she'd ever really made, couldn't remember feeling anything so sensitive, made her feel like everywhere he touched was on fire and rippling.

His other hand slipped out of her shirt, slid up the wall to find a place beside her head, balling up into a fist. He leaned forward and started hitching her skirt higher with his forearm.

His hand lifted and started to slip beneath her tights. Touched her underwear and the dampness, rolling in circles, but the feeling was muted by the material. Then he went past her underwear and even _his_ fingers felt cool against the overwhelming heat of her. She nearly yelped, that bittersweet feeling of coiling pleasure and alarm as one long finger slid across her. Light thatch of curls and soft skin. Slick, sensitive.

He parted her and dragged his fingertip across her clit.

She shuddered, and moaned, breathless little sounds.

'Fuck, Kat…'

_Oh god._

He started pressing against her entrance, dipping, teasing.

Her hand snapped down to grab his wrist, close to yanking him away. Her heart was beating fast for all the wrong reasons.

_This _isn't _a nightmare._ She _shouldn't _have to tell herself this. She'd blocked it all out. She had moved past that. She was stronger and in control and she wanted Dante to touch her. His hands were wonderful, but those strokes were too familiar and it made her feel sick, like she was going to puke and—

'No— wait, _wait_.' she gasped, shaking her head furiously.

He froze. 'What's wrong?'

'I don't… I don't really…'

He drew his hand away, and her panic subsided. 'I'm not gonna hurt you, Kat.'

_You don't know that. You don't know that._

Her hold tightened on him. 'I— I know. Just…'

'I'm sorry,' he said softly against her cheek.

'Don't—don't say sorry. I'm… just…'

Before she could even finish, he was kissing her again, hand safely back against her stomach. She felt slight stickiness. She could feel her tights now, clinging lower than where they had been, a telltale sign of that single moment when she'd nearly seen pure white. Now, she was too aware of everything, felt so horribly embarrassed by this while he just kept on touching her, forgetting about it completely.

'Dante.'

She pressed a hand to his chest and softly pushed him away.

He knew what this meant.

He stepped back without saying anything. His hand left her body. He searched her eyes, a side-to-side motion, like he was looking into each one with equal, deliberate scrutiny. Seeing if one of them told him a different story to the other.

'Maybe… can we stop?' she whispered. 'We should stop.'

He tilted his head at her, expression flat. The fist beside her head palmed out and he leaned against it, snapping his arm straight so that there was even more distance between them. She saw how much he was shaking, and couldn't pinpoint where his desire started and his frustration ended. Her lipstick was smudged all over his lips, a little bit across his cheeks.

'How many times are we gonna do this, Kat?' he asked bluntly.

Her eyes lowered to the ground. When he realized he wasn't going to get a reply, he rocked off the wall and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had felt like a rhetorical question anyway. The fingers still wet from her were limp at his side. She got a waft of cool air as he walked away.

'Where are you going?' she asked, feeling numb.

'To go masturbate in the shower.' He closed the bathroom door loudly.

Kat blushed furiously, hugged her shoulders and stood there for a long time.

* * *

She cradled her tea, staring into the swirl of steam coming up to hit her pores for so long that eventually she found herself with a lukewarm drink. She was startled when she eventually brought it up to her lips. Made her realize how long she had actually been sitting there feeling sorry for herself.

Kat sighed, saw that her laptop was wide open beside her with a screensaver of a baby panda tripping over its own feet, she kept it on there because she knew Dante secretly liked it. She didn't even remember why she turned it on, and so simply closed the lid, finding herself in no mood to do anything. Weather forecasts predicted thunder and endless rain for the night, and by the sight of the heavy, black clouds hanging overhead, it deemed heading home for cover wise. Instead she found herself with cold tea and a half-eaten muffin, and the knowledge that when she got home, Dante wouldn't be there. And that he probably wouldn't return well into the morning, despite the warnings.

Three days ago she had opened her eyes to a dark room, a swooping feeling in her stomach that tied in with the clammy feeling of her flesh. It had been well past noon. Starving, and yet the thought of food made her want to vomit up what she hadn't the night before. She really was a lightweight.

Dante's couch was empty. She hadn't even heard him leave. The alarm clock read two-thirty pm, which was frightening to her because she'd taught herself not to be a heavy sleeper, and always woke up early. Unless she pulled an all-nighter herself sometimes, she was up before Dante, sipping on her black tea, ready to pass him a glass of juice as he fell off of his couch and pulled his pants on and cracked his neck, looking utterly miserable to be awake. Anything _but_ a morning person. Hardly ever awake before one.

Unless he made it a priority to be up and out the door. Unless he did it to purposely avoid her.

But he still left her an aspirin, and a tall glass of water, which she guzzled thankfully.

She didn't leave her bed much that day. She took a long shower, too exhausted to stand so she sat down, and woke up an hour later squashed into the corner with cold tiles against her ass and equally cold water beating down at her. No hot shower for him tonight. When he was in such a foul mood, usually the smallest things like that could set him off.

Except he didn't come back, well beyond his normal mark. She lay awake in the darkness listening out for his curse words and his heavy boots. She was dozing by the time he walked past, ignoring her completely. Light was coming through the cracks in the curtain. He slumped against the couch, fully clothed. Elbows to his knees, hands running through his short, rough hair. He sat there for a long time while she pretended to sleep.

He peeked up at her once, shook his head. He undressed and curled up onto the couch and faced away from her.

The next day was similar, barely even crossed his path. When she did, she got a mouthful of normal, shit-eating Dante. But he avoided looking at her and didn't flirt with her at all, most days she kept a running tally but he didn't even break one. He was out the door for another long excursion that he had no desire to tell her about.

Kat sighed. It started raining gently. Droplets found their way against the shop window, pattering, a pleasant sound. She watched them drool down the glass and picked at her muffin, but found she had no further desire for it. _What a waste_.

She had panicked. Any amount of guilt did not stem from the fact that she had asked him to stop. Dante still had chivalry, despite how much of a jerk he could be. But there had been many moments where she found herself so lost in the touch of his hand or his mouth, and he had shown he was capable of gentleness, of going slow. But then she'd be reminded that she had been in these circumstances before, that somebody had touched her like this, somebody slimy, who had no right. She would freak, from old feelings, from knowing she was so inexperienced and Dante was… a deviant. Done it all. Seen it all. Seen better looking women, voluptuous women, like the ones that had been all over him at the bar.

She'd say stop, or push him away. And he'd blink, like coming out of a wonderful daze to find that he hadn't been gentle enough, good enough. Trembling and hard and stepping away, because that's what she wanted.

_And Dante doesn't do that._

If he wanted something, he usually got it. And if he didn't, then he wasn't going to waste his time.

And he'd already stuck around for months. As a friend, as a protector, as her…

'Miss?'

Kat sat up straight and peered behind her left shoulder, to find nobody there. Scared now that she was hearing voices she swung a look over her right and found the young serving girl who usually stayed behind the counter, staring at her.

She was polite, a little shy. Blushed whenever Dante smirked or said anything to her.

'Miss, we're closing early due to the storm. My boss doesn't normally let us do this but… I could wrap your muffin and you can take it.'

Kat felt like crying at this kindness. 'I'm sorry. No, please, I don't mean to waste— thank you. Bye.'

The rain was heavier now, and she found herself without an umbrella. She stood in the opening of the café and glanced back at the clock mounted against the teal wallpaper— five-thirty. Dante would still be out on the streets. Knowing him he'd probably love a dirty fight, in the rain and the mud. He might not even come home tonight, the way things were going.

She didn't intentionally lead him on, that wasn't at _all_ what she was doing with Dante. She had a lot of old fears that he would probably be sick of by now.

He'd never said that to her, or made her feel bad when she woke up from nightmares, apart from being naturally tired and cranky. But she _knew_ he thought that way about her, he had to. Thought she was just being an idiot child about it all. Moaning one moment and then shoving him away the next, just playing with his emotions.

She didn't feel like going home to that empty space.

She shoved her small notebook up into her jumper and held it tightly against her chest and made a beeline for the opposite street.

* * *

It didn't even register as she walked through the door. First, there was him— a big enough surprise as it was. She'd been wandering around for hours, but it hadn't really killed _that_ much time. He should still be out, finding liquor and demons to smear. His pants were darkened and sticking to his skin from the rain, but he'd come out of it a while ago and drip marks were all over the carpet. His chest was bare. The rain made his hair darken, too. A shade of gray, fighting to stray into his eyes.

And then she noticed the static air between them.

She was soaked, had probably done some serious damage to her laptop, which she still clung to, like her arms had been fused around it. She was shivering from the cold as she unfolded, placed it shakily on top of the drawer, nearly knocking over her vials and maps. Just watched him stand there with clenched fists, a frown on his face that spoke volumes of his frustration with her in that moment.

Kat closed the door so that she had a reason to break eye contact, having to use some force against the wind that wanted to come in and lick her damp skin. The sounds of thunder seeped through the thin walls. Howling rain, sparks of lightning out the window.

There was an intense moment of his eyes then finding hers and he approached her, until meagre inches were between them.

'Kat.' His voice found that low pitch, like gravel, just bordering unkind. He sounded equal amounts pissed off and frightened out of his mind. 'Kat, what the fuck were you doing?'

'What are you doing here?' she asked, not intentionally ignoring his question. It annoyed him even more.

'What do you think I'm doing here?' he snarled. 'Where the hell were you?'

'Just walking.' she murmured, feeling cornered.

He looked dumbstruck. 'Are you serious?'

His tone made her feel dumb. Walking around in a storm _was_ dumb, but it wasn't nice all the same. 'I didn't think you would be home.'

'So you decided to just stroll around in a fucking storm?'

'I… got lost.'

This made him _furious_.

'Why didn't you call?' His voice rose. His hand took on an imploring form, shaking at her, sweeping the distance between them like the air had all the answers. 'You bought those fucking phones for a reason, Kat.'

She hadn't been at the pizza joint. He'd walked straight up to the windows to find they had closed early, the place an empty lot of stacked chairs and tables. It was one of the only place she went, besides staying crammed up in the motel room. Which she wasn't fucking _in_. He had wandered around in the rain, checking the bars and restaurants nearby— didn't expect to see her there. It just wasn't her scene. If she had any other places she liked to go during the day she hadn't told _him_. And she would have, Little Miss Adamant that he keep his phone on him and should ring or text her as soon as _anything_ changed. He did the same fucking thing every day and he had assumed she did too— pouring over books and reading up online about anything that could help him, making useful shit out of semen, and Molotov's. Eating those white chocolate muffins that she loved. Going for jogs around the block to make sure she still kept in shape.

He had headed back to the motel, checking his phone periodically. The storm started making him feel nervous and he started pacing the room like a caged fucking animal. He _hated_ that feeling. That somebody who was naturally dependent on him would just do something so stupid. Fuck people needing him. Fuck having a partner.

_Fuck 'em._

But it was _Kat_.

She fought the urge to shrug now— her go-to response. She couldn't give him specifics. It had been growing dark quickly, only made worse from the rain. She had thought she'd just circle the block a few times to clear her head and feel the fresh rain, but then she'd gotten lost. And it had scared her at first, but she was scared even more of the thought that if she picked up her phone and called him, she would just get his anger, his hate. Or just… nothing. So she'd kept going until she felt numb and she ignored all the strangers and the homeless, pretended they didn't look at her. Felt the rain wash her skin and just…

And then she'd recognized the laundromat around the corner, calmness on her shoulders. She'd done it herself. She'd found her way home.

She was starving for a muffin and some hot tea again.

She had walked in the door to him there, not where he should be. Anger and… and fear in his eyes. For her. Something bubbled up in her.

'I knew you were mad at me for what happened the other night.' Her lip trembled so much she had to bite it, to keep it still. It made her realize how stupid she had been and how ridiculous she now felt. Dante sighed, seemed to deflate a bit from it. He lost a bit of tension in his jaw and he stepped away from her.

'So you stayed out in that?'

She gazed at the floor, hiding beneath her hood.

Dante shook his head. 'Kat, that's fucking stupid.'

'I knew you were just… gonna keep being a jerk.'

He looked at her helplessly.

'I am stupid.' she said softly.

He ran his hand through his hair, closed his eyes for a brief moment and gathered himself. 'You're not stupid,' he said, eyes slowly opening to gaze at her, with empty anger. But that small bit of fear was still there. 'Just call next time.'

Of course he would have come home to check she was safe, as soon as he knew about the bad weather. Of course he would go out searching and thinking of all the bad things that could be happening to her. Getting herself lost in a world currently ravaged by demons.

'No, I am. I'm an idiot.'

He always looked a bit lost in the face of her, like she was a conundrum he couldn't slice or fuck or drink his way through. She was Kat— damaged, sweet, weird. Used to being lonely, working _for_ people and not with. Not used to the freedom or the danger he signified.

Dante was lost for words.

She was walking towards him, her boots squelching.

'I'm really sorry.'

Before she even knew what she was doing her arms were around him, she was burying her face into his chest and the comforting smell of him, the muscles that tensed from her touch. She had never hugged him before— and she didn't count all those hot, short embraces as something as sweet and meaningful as… as the downright _snuggle_ she gave him now.

It took him a long time to find the confidence in putting an arm around her. Another hand was on back of her neck and he dragged back the hood of her jumper, and rested his chin on her damp hair. All of his movements were awkward, self-conscious.

She tried to imagine the last time anybody had ever hugged him.

'What the hell are you sorry about?' he said softly into her hairline.

'The other night, I…'

He shook his head. 'I was a dick. Fuck what I said.'

She nodded in agreement, but started to tremble. 'And I keep pushing you away. In my head it's like I just… I get to a point and then I just snap. Like I'm not even here anymore. I'm somewhere else. I'm in danger.'

He tilted her head back so he could get a good look into her eyes. He looked serious, the most serious she had ever seen him, not even that intense sexy-serious. It scared her, because it wasn't Dante. She was turning him into a guilty mess, making him tired around the edges. 'I'm sorry.'

She blinked back tears. 'Don't give up on me, okay? Just give me time. Just…'

_Fucking hell, Kat._

He wiped a tear away with his thumb. 'Nah, you're stuck with me.'

She touched his jaw and went onto the tips of her toes. She was coming up to meet him, with her mouth open and willing, and he responded at the last second. Her teeth knocked against his and his next thought was about the way she pressed her soaked body to him, pulled at his cheeks. Her eyes were shut tight, and she was tense, like he was going to reject her.

_Fuck that_, he thought, grabbing fistfuls of her hoodie and kissing her until she was breathless. Something inside him that had felt all twisted and gnarled just turned to wisps, nearly made his head spin. And then she was pushing him away, but it wasn't like before. With the push of her small hands came the feel of the bed hitting the back of his knees. The sudden nudge made their mouths slip and he took this time to find her jaw, and her throat. She made a soft sound, he felt her hands dig into his hair. Her fingers felt like icicles on his skin.

She was doing everything she knew with her tongue, with her body, and she'd never kissed him like this before. Desperate and wet and fucking amazing.

Her teeth started chattering and he pulled away, so caught up in the moment he forgot she was drenched, freezing and that she was trying to hide it. Dante let out a warm breath and started rubbing her arms up and down. Her eyelids were flickering open, confused that his mouth wasn't on hers anymore.

'You're freezing,' he said, while he stepped towards her and made her shuffle back so that they were further away from the bed.

'I'm fine.'

'You need to have a shower.'

Kat was usually the one to listen to reason— in fact she was usually the one _reiterating _reason. But instead of accepting his rational argument she dragged his head down again and kissed him hard, stuck her tongue in his mouth and basically made every chivalrous thought he had go deep back down into the depths.

And this was amazing, it really was. The way she was throwing herself at him was basically a wet dream come true. But it was also fucking _weird_, because suddenly the kiss just disintegrated from a sweet mutual apology to her trying to shove him onto the bed, something he wouldn't relent to despite how much she pushed.

Her fingernails ran down his skin, like a hasty mark of territory, making him suck in a sharp breath. Her small hand pressed against his thigh. He felt it tremble. So, so nervous. His eyes turned heavy as she pressed against the buttons of his pants, directly over his crotch, and his blood just ran down him. The state of arousal he had already been in increased tenfold.

She tried to undo them one-handed, but the anxiety that made her hands shake betrayed her. And then both her hands were between them suddenly, fumbling for his button as she popped it in one swoop, as she tried to gather strength into the bones of her fingers. Trembling more and more.

'Kat.'

Her head fell against the curve of his neck. He should have tried harder to stop her.

He felt her timidly bite and suck, as close as she could to where his veins pulsed.

_Fuck. Fuck._ His zip went down.

'Kat, seriously—'

She touched the hard dip of his hipbone just as he closed a hand around her wrist, but she dragged against the pressure.

She wrapped her hand around his dick through his boxers and his chest heaved.

She froze up and held her breath, while he fought the urge to thrust himself into her hand. It was safe to say that he hadn't tried particularly hard to stop her. She bent her head and closed in on herself. And then her breath was getting shallow and the hand on him shook so hard he started to lose all semblance of thought and pleasure.

So he patted her arm, a casual movement to try and cool her down. Her hand was still hanging onto him awkwardly and so he pried her away, held that hand to his chest, stroking and trying to sooth back that panic that was making her eyes so big and wet.

She was going to start crying and he shouldn't have let her touch him.

'Kat, hey, don't—'

'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to… I— I just—'

'Don't worry about it. You need to have a shower. You're shivering.'

He tried not to draw too much attention to his crotch as he adjusted and zipped himself back up.

Thankfully, she didn't cry again. In fact, she looked very disappointed. With herself, with the whole situation. He clenched his jaw, took her hand and led her into the bathroom. He felt a small amount of resistance, but like he was going to let her freeze her ass off. And she'd obviously come to a realization, had jumped the trenches that was her nerves, and her fear of him, and him touching her. It had given her such a surge of self-assurance that she'd jumped a little _too_ far ahead of herself. It wasn't the best confidence boost for a woman nearly have a heart attack after touching your junk, but he would take what he could get with Kat.

He let go of her and walked towards the shower. She stood in the doorframe looking like a lost kid, wringing the ends of her jumper. Dante turned the shower on, left his palm out so he could feel for hot water. The taps were cold and the plumbing less than superb, so he stood there for a long time watching her.

'I don't want you to think that was a direct response to your penis.' she said quietly.

Dante messed his hair up awkwardly. 'Yeah, I… I got that, thanks.'

They stood silently then, at opposite ends of a tiny space, until he was happy with the temperature.

Honestly, he did have every intention of leaving her to it. But when he tried to get past her, her palm pressed onto his arm. It wouldn't have stopped him, no matter how hard she tried. But she was staring at him so imploringly that he stopped dead in his tracks.

'Are you still mad?'

'Not really.' He wasn't going to let her pull a stunt like _that_ again, but he at least got the rage back under his skin. 'Just take a shower and get warm, okay?'

Another hand, against his chest.

He gave her a hard look. 'What do you want, Kat?'

Her mouth quivered. 'I don't know.'

He ran the hair back out of his face with his fingers. 'What do you want me to do?' he asked, helplessly.

Kat was quiet. It was almost like she hadn't heard him, concentrating so hard on a point near his ear for so long that he started to fidget. Her leg shifted and she ghosted across the material of his jeans, clinging to his skin. But a thrill had gone through her.

'Stay here?' she asked softly.

'I'll be right outside.'

Kat shook her head, swallowed. As he watched her throat, the microscopic movement of gulping down her nerves and fear. She ran her cold, shivering fingers across his chest, up and down, silky soft against muscle.

Dante rolled his eyes. He reached over her, grabbed the handle and pulled the door shut. With nowhere for the steam to escape, it started to fog up the mirror, making the room humid and slick.

He urged her arms up and dragged the sopping hoodie off her body. He dragged the shirt, too, and by the time it was over her head she gave no resistance, he tossed them onto the floor. An arm immediately went to cover her chest, blushing furiously. A cute little polka dot bra. He saw her hard nipples through the material, but she was hiding it all.

And as a stark contrast her free hand started going for the buttons on his jeans again.

'What are you doing?' he murmured.

'I… thought that was pretty obvious.' She sounded almost shy.

His mouth quirked. He slid a hand from her elbow to her wrist, affection in the movement. 'That doesn't really mix well with the way you're trying to cover up.'

She blushed. 'You make me nervous.'

He rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. 'That's not really what I was going for.'

'I know. It's just, you're experienced. I'm… I'm not. _Really_ not. _That_ makes me nervous.'

'You think I care?'

'I hope you do.' she shot back.

He smirked at her. 'That's not what I meant.'

Kat, after much deliberation, lowered her other arm.

He didn't spend much time admiring her, because as she did so she pressed her palm against the hardness of him, mimicking a stroke, and he was suddenly preoccupied. She wasn't freaking out as badly, no overt trembling or tears. Her own arousal peaked through the scent of her, the way her pupils dilated. But it wasn't enough. He didn't want her afraid, on edge like this— he wanted her in a melting, hybrid state of pleasure and breathlessness. He wanted her teeth and nails biting his skin and asking for more.

'Just, you know, show me what to do. I promise I won't freak out again. I just haven'ttouched anyone in a long time.'

'Kat, we have all the time in the world.'

'Are you turning me down?' she said softly. He caught the teasing in her voice.

'No. Hell no. But—'

'You don't want me to touch you?'

His brow rose. 'It's not something I think about every five minutes or anything.' he said dryly.

She smiled at him, relaxing.

His jaw clenched, eyelids flickering a bit as her fingers curled around him through the material anyway.

'Is this okay?'

'…Sure.'

She stroked him, up and down.

'Okay. Like that. Definitely.' he bit out.

'You can touch me too, if you want.'

He didn't touch her, not for a long moment. The way she was stroking him was a little haphazard and shy and so his pleasure was a little jagged. He held her shoulders and kept her gaze and stroked all the soft skin he could in encouragement. And as soon as he noticed the spike in her confidence, his hands went up to her breasts and he squeezed them both.

She thought for a moment he might unclasp her bra, and she swallowed the nervousness of being naked in front of him. It wasn't really a matter of being embarrassed about her body. She knew she wasn't ugly. She was slim. She had nice skin. But she hadn't done this in a long time. She couldn't even remember if she enjoyed it. Nerves suddenly began to swallow _her_ instead.

But he didn't. His hold on her wrist tightened and he gently pried her away from him. She was about to protest when she felt his hands at the front of her shorts, working the buttons free quickly. The sound of her zip rang hard in her ears. He pulled them down her legs slowly, crouching to do so, and he stopped to tug her feet out of her boots and socks. For some reason, the image of his big hands on her ankles turned her on.

His thumb slipped between the elastic of the lacy little number she wore and her hipbone, stroking softly, and then his mouth found that same spot and her hands went for his hair to yank. She shuddered and tried to remember if the hipbone was an erogenous zone and whether or not she was going crazy. Dante mouthed his way up her stomach and that erogenous zone thought kept repeating itself over and over in her head until she concluded that every inch was her was just that embarrassingly sensitive.

Kat was a flushed mess by the time their eyes met again and Dante marveled at it.

_She's fucking beautiful. Just lift her up against the wall. Just _fuck_ her already._

Dante pulled her towards the open shower. Not taking his eyes off her, walking back into the stream of hot water that was about on par with his body heat. Inch by inch she watched the hairs on his head flatten under the water, watched the rivulets run down his skin. It defined his muscles, the way they had to change course and find an easier slope. It made her mouth dry.

She stepped in and he almost saw the steam coming off her, and thought about changing the temperature. But she didn't react to it. She was worried about the makeup running down her face, even worse than before. She wiped at the streaks. Dante didn't even care. Because he was suddenly nuzzling her and pulling her hips against his, biting and sucking hard enough that he left a bruise on her collarbone, right next to her scar. She moaned and jerked against him.

He ran his tongue along the bruise softly, but didn't stop. He went all the way up to her ear, where he took her lobe between his teeth, and then his hand was on her thigh and grabbing a handful of her ass. He was good at this, reducing her to a whimpering mess. All she could hear was the showerhead and the sound of her own voice, but he was silent, so intent on what he was doing to her.

'Take those off,' she said suddenly, tugging at the pants between them.

He pulled away. 'All of it?'

She blushed furiously. 'Um… maybe not all of it.'

'You sure? Wouldn't want to disappoint.'

She frowned. 'You're teasing me.'

'It's easy.'

A rough thump and his back was against the tiles. He was smirking down at her, happy with himself.

'You can see me naked. I don't mind.'

'…Not everyone's like you.' she mumbled.

'You _definitely_ should be.'

She cleared her throat. 'The first time I _met_ you, you were naked.'

He laughed as her face went hot from the memory. 'At least we got all that awkward shit out of the way, right?'

She shrugged and wished she could agree. It seemed her sole purpose in life was to make everything awkward.

He pushed her fringe out of her face, out of her big eyes, smudged with her makeup. He'd never really seen beauty in anything, not really. He never stuck around long enough. He remembered his mother as lovely, but all he had was broken memories. He'd surrounded himself with women that were wild and fun and sexy. But Kat was pretty and waiflike. And beautiful. Self-consciousness was something he'd never seen in an attractive light before, but he had realized quickly that Kat's didn't stem from her looks. She never tried to cover up the scars on her face, or complained about her body. In fact the clothes she wore sometimes made him rethink the whole meek act she had going on.

Dante did as instructed, stepping out of his sopping wet jeans and kicking them out of the shower.

'Happy now?'

She stepped in close, hugging him again. Her smooth legs kept snaking around his in wonder. The cotton of his boxers met the lace of her underwear and the heat between them increased tenfold.

'Mmhm.'

Dante grinned.

The water was still hot, but if memory served it wouldn't stay that way for much longer. He should probably get her out of it, get her dry. Make her some tea or whatever the fuck that herbal shit she drank was. But then again, the way she was staring at him, keeping him backed against the wall. Aroused, waiting for him to do something.

He reached up to squeeze her breasts, and leaned down to put his mouth across her chest, slowly dragging her bra down until more and more pale skin came into contact with his teeth and his tongue. And Kat gasped when his rough skin on hers was almost too much. He pinched her nipple, and then smoothed the pain over with the pad of his thumb and the lance of pleasure that went through her was almost agonizing, and addicting, and even more when his tongue wrapped around her other and she nearly yanked the hair out of his head. With her bra awkwardly squashed between his chin and the underside of her breast, he reached around her to tug at the hooks until they came free.

She was trembling. He lifted his head to look into her eyes, and urged her arms out so he could slide it off of her, and toss it to the shower floor.

He took her hips, indolently curving his hands over her backside and her underwear, hooking his fingers between them. He pulled and held her close, kissing her cheek and mouth. And then he moved his arm between them. Slowly, listening to her breath catch in her throat, watching her shoulders arch, hunch over. He rolled his palm against her, over and over again until eventually she eased into it. And he knew he pressed with enough gentleness to make the feeling go on. Her mouth opened, nothing came out, nothing audible.

'You okay?'

Kat was busy gnawing on her bottom lip and to show him just how okay she was, she pushed her hands across the plains of his chest and stomach appreciatively, and arched into his touch. He breathed deeply, feeling every scrape of her nails.

Dante closed his eyes as he pushed her underwear to the side and ran his fingers across her, and then altogether opened them, because he didn't want to miss that look on her face. Made of silk, of softness, of heat. He slid against her clit over and over and watched her chest rise and fall and her legs go weak. He mapped Kat's small back with his other hand, trying to warm her everywhere, and then he switched them and he pressed her into the wall, pressed close himself. Slender body, her knees shaking, his dick hard and pressing against her thigh. She gave a noise he identified to be a feeling of overwhelming pressure, and wanting to come from it. He pushed his finger inside her.

He knew this bit, off by heart. Heat, screams, slickness, convulsing muscles. His name in repetition to match his thrusts. She was so wet, he had no trouble sliding into her. She was so, so tight that he wanted to groan. She was biting him so hard at his chest and his teeth ached, and he almost couldn't take it. _Get a hold of yourself_.

Dante shook his head and pressed his mouth to her hair, kissing and trying to find softness again, breathing, thrusting his finger over and over. His thumb mashed and rotated against her clitoris and there was something wonderful about the repetition of it, as she twisted up.

Eventually, under his heavy gaze, digging her nails into his skin, she seized up and lost her sweet little momentum. She started to warn him through bitten-off repetitions of his name as she faltered.

And fuck, if it wasn't the hottest thing he'd heard in his life.

He tilted her chin up, so he could look into her eyes, and she saw the pure wonder there.

His finger twisted, hooked inside her, and hit a rigid spot he had been searching for and that was it. She saw white.

'C'mon, baby…'

She tightened around his finger and she came, stammering, simmering under the look he gave her. Kat whimpered and her cheeks found that rosiness that he loved. She just looked at him like he was everything. Their kiss was a wonderful mess of tongue and teeth as she slumped, panted. Sated and dreamy. She continued to clench around him stutteringly, until he felt her body. Sticky fingers, pressed against her thigh. She winced for only a moment.

Against every throbbing urge he had to unbutton himself and align against her, thrust up and home and probably come instantly from it, Dante murmured in her ear, mostly sweet nothings, something to make her giggle and still her beating heart. He fought it so much that he almost believed the softness in his hands as he pushed the hair back out of her face again and smiled, as she grinned dreamily back.

Dante felt the water starting to drift from lukewarm to uncomfortable, so he reached up and shut the tap off. Her legs were still like jelly, the weight of her leaning heavily on him. She clung around his shoulders and was breathing so deeply he wondered for a second if she'd fallen asleep like a flamingo.

'It's cold now,' she whispered finally, after a few moments of awkwardly standing together.

Dante nodded and led her out. He grabbed blindly for a towel and felt her pink fluffy one, shaking it open.

'You can probably let go now.' he said, amused.

She clung tighter. 'Maybe.' she mumbled, sounding tired and happy.

Dante smirked and gently pried her off, catching her waist as she swayed. He wrapped the towel around her, even tucked it to stay in place, and quickly dried himself off.

He grabbed her pajamas off the bed and passed them through a slightly parted door, searching through his drawers to find himself a dry pair of boxers. Still hard as fuck. Trying not to think about it.

Kat stepped out of the bathroom with a clean face and brushed, damp hair. His back was to her and he was busily trying to think of anything but his raging hard on.

'Dante?'

'Mm?'

She gripped the towel around her neck and waited for him to turn around, but he didn't.

He suddenly felt ridiculous standing there like that, so instead walked to the kitchen with a purpose, boiling the kettle and readying her tea leaves in the strainer.

'That was nice. Thank you.'

This was a level of naivety (or sincerity, he still couldn't figure it out) he'd never really had to deal with before. 'Thanks, Kat.' he replied dryly, over the clang of a spoon.

'You didn't, you know…'

He closed his eyes and everything paused. 'No. I don't know. You'll have to be more specific.'

'You didn't come.'

He thought about messing with her more, but lost the desire for it. Maybe he should have sent her out of the bathroom to change and just quickly jerked off. It wouldn't have felt as good as her hand or simply fucking her but at least he wouldn't be stuck with this… big… problem, and the awkward conversation she was trying to have with him.

'Yeah, I know.'

'Can I— do you want me to—'

Dante shrugged. 'Nah. It's fine.'

'That's not normally your style.'

He peered over his shoulder. 'How would you know what _my style _is?'

She actually _smirked_ at him. He could feel himself rubbing off on her— figuratively. Literally.

'I'm starting to.'

He laughed at her. 'Right.'

The kettle boiled over to ready, steaming, bubbling water taking up the quiet sounds of the apartment until it settled and finally, so did his erection. Barely. She liked her tea black and strong and sugarless, and so he left it to brew in the mug for a moment.

She yawned again, still staring at his hips.

'Tea. And bed, for girls that like to go strolling around in storms.' he reminded her. Said storm was still doing its best to rip the motel off its hinges.

He heard the springs of her old matrass groan under her weight, as he dumped the strainer in the sink— a job for the morning. He turned to her, to find her on the edge of the bed, now staring at the floor.

The tea was still boiling, too hot for her mouth, so he went to her, put the mug down on the drawers, wondered if he should just follow through with the urge to kiss her or go to sleep.

'…Dante?'

He looked down at her, away from the mountain of blankets and junk piled onto his most comfortable couch.

She was wringing her hands. 'You can sleep here.'

'Yeah, well I'm paying for this dump, so…'

She shook her head, a little more vigorously than necessary. 'In my bed. I mean in my bed.'

His chest clenched. Weird.

'Um… Dante?'

'Yes?'

They forgot about the tea. Her body was in a time lapse all its own, as she reached up and put wrapped her hands around his forearms. Her thumbs stroked the dip of bone there. She leaned forward, and pressed her mouth to his hip and kissed him there with a quivering mouth. He recognized this kiss.

Then her fingers ran down his skin in glades of softness, before tugging at his boxers.

'I would like to return the favor,' she told him shyly.

Dante could have seen stars behind his eyes. He was very aware of how receptive she was after that, how she met him head on with every kiss and found his mouth with her tongue in long, indolent sweeps that mirrored his. Something had definitely changed, eased inside her.

She pulled him into her bed. He took her in his arms and found the small groove her body had made over the months. And he couldn't help himself at first, this strange territory, these new limits. Still not naked, because Kat did things in steps, didn't rush into things like he did. Maybe she thought that was how it had to be, and he bit his tongue trying to explain that the skimpy cotton of his boxers was nothing between them. She pressed close and for a moment he was above her, and she was a small thing in his arms, surrounded by muscle and skin and the soft sheets beneath. He pulled at her hips ground down to hear her gasp, swallowing that noise with a kiss.

But determinedly she forced a hand between them, before she lost herself. She popped open the tiny button of his boxers and started pressing at his shoulder, asked if she could touch him.

Like he would have said no. He fell onto his back, yielding to the hand pushing him back. She pushed the material out of the way, and Kat started with a panicked curiosity, trembling as she touched him and he jerked.

Kat found a rhythm, after her exploration was done, going off the sounds he made. She stroked him into oblivion, and he said nothing about this intimacy and what little the clothes did to impede it, because suddenly, he understood that it did mean the world. To feel her body, wrapped in soft cotton. Small and pliant under his mouth as she jerked him off and wrapped a leg around his.

She kept asking "like this?" and he stopped himself from blowing his load so many times, indulging in the way she gently snapped her wrist, shook around him, paid so much attention to everything because she wanted it to be _perfect_. She shook through it all, breathing hard, mirroring him and so absorbed with his pleasure.

He came hard, filthy words on his tongue, breathing them into her mouth. And her name, soft amongst it. Her sticky hand and the convulsing muscles of his abdomen. He didn't move for a long time, steeling himself as she kissed his neck, stroked his hair.

Eventually, when he could walk again, he went and cleaned himself up in the bathroom, and when he came back, his spot in her bed was still wide open. She was patting it, and beckoning him.

He never slept on the couch again, even the days he was threatened with it.

* * *

TBC

author's note: so one more chapter to go and this shindig is over. I would really appreciate feedback for this! would like to know if you think I've got Dante and Kat in character and whether or not you like this little story. some more inspiration for these two, "Ugly Boy" by Die Antwoord, "No Diggity" the Chet Faker version, and pretty much every Black Kids song in existence. and thank you so much for the reviews and feedback!

**this chapter has been edited**


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